


Observe and Report

by VioletHaze



Category: Supernatural
Genre: DCBB 2018, Dean in Panties, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge, Fake Identities, Fandom Trumps Hate, Government agent castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-23 13:39:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 55,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16160033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletHaze/pseuds/VioletHaze
Summary: Recently demoted from his job as a field agent, Castiel is back behind a desk. It’s humiliating to be here with the same coworkers he left behind only a few months ago, but he’s bound and determined to keep his head down, do his job, and prove to his boss that he won’t make the same mistakes twice. Everything is going as planned until he finds himself distracted by one of the people he’s charged with monitoring: Dean Winchester.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The amazing [Ricketyjukeboxer](http://ricketyjukeboxer.tumblr.com/) has absolutely rocked my world with her art! It's above and beyond anything I could have hoped for! Check out her (nsfw) art post [here](http://ricketyjukeboxer.tumblr.com/post/178728153133/here-are-my-arts-for-the-2018-dcbb-observe-and). 
> 
> Great big thanks to [Nicky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nickelmd/pseuds/nickelmd) and [Chandra](http://pecanpie.co.vu/) for beta reading and providing excellent feedback. Special thanks to my team chat and the salt crew for keeping me going. This fic wouldn't exist had [Christy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NowMakeThemKiss/pseuds/NowMakeThemKiss) not pitched the idea in the first place, so a special thank you to her and the members of Team TrashBrigade who donated to my [Fandom Trumps Hate](https://fandomtrumpshate.tumblr.com/) auction to get me to write it. 
> 
> As always, my endless appreciation to Jojo and Muse for such a great challenge experience. The amount of work you put in behind the scenes is truly incredible.
> 
> ***This story takes place in a fictional agency. All policies, procedures, and technologies are made up.***  
> 

 

 

Cas stands in the doorway, sucking in a deep breath before entering the room. His attempt to proceed unnoticed is thwarted by Gabriel, who never seems to miss a thing. Although, with a grand total of five desks in this particular office, Cas isn’t sure why he thought he could sneak in undetected.

“The prodigal son returns!” Gabe stands and makes a sweeping arm gesture to usher Cas to his cubicle. “We’re so happy to have you back in the sewers with the rest of the riff raff.”

The other occupants from the room all look up from their computers with a variety of expressions. Hannah seems genuinely happy to see him. The new hire, Inias, looks wide-eyed but Cas can’t gauge if he’s impressed or surprised. Zachariah, of course, can barely be bothered to glance at him, annoyed at being disturbed from his work.

Head down, Cas makes his way to the only open cubicle. Unlike the others, there’s nothing yet to personalize it. No framed photos along his computer, no mementos or friendly notes thumbtacked to the cork board. Come to think of it, he’d had his very own office for seven months and, unless his favorite coffee mug counted, he hadn’t thought to put anything personal there either.

Because nothing ever goes his way, it turns out Gabriel isn’t done with him yet. “You remember how all of this works, right, Cas? Need help turning on your computer? Can I draw you a map of where the bathroom is?”

As he sits, Cas realizes he’s stuck with the chair that squeaks. He stays as still as he can and tries not to rise to Gabriel’s bait. “I think I can manage,” he says, his jaw tight.

“It’s down the hall and to the left,” Gabriel says loudly, as if Cas hadn’t responded. Leaning forward, he rests a hand on Cas’s shoulder so that he can speak softly to him. “I know this isn’t great for you, but I’m glad to have you back.”

Cas tries to smile at him, but he can’t quite manage more than a resigned twist of his mouth.

“Now remember,” Gabriel says, back at full volume for the benefit of his audience. “Our job here is to observe the bad guys and report what we see to the people who can actually do something about them.”

Up until recently, Cas _was_ one of those people who could do something. He’d worked his way up out of this room full of cubicles to be a field agent, capable of making decisions on the suspects Gabe’s team sent his way. But one error in judgement had left him making this walk of shame. Naomi had sent him back down to the minors, and the unfairness of it sits sour in his stomach. Sighing, Cas starts up his computer. He’d earned his ticket out of here once, he could do it again.

He spends the morning getting acquainted with his new caseload. When citizens are suspected of engaging in behaviors that signify a potential security threat, their names are placed on watchlists. Those watchlists are then turned over to this department. Reasons for being placed on a watchlist range in intensity. It can be anything from suspicious internet searches (bomb building instructions or visits to terrorist websites) to being a known associate of someone already on the department’s radar. Some unlucky people simply have the misfortune of sharing the same name as someone on the list. With a _better safe than sorry_ mentality, a wide net gets cast, dredging up a multitude of information to sort through in order to determine actual threats. Cas’s new (old) job is to sift through it, reviewing cases and using electronic surveillance to determine whether a sufficient level of threat exists. From here, cases get bumped up to the next level, where the action is and Cas currently isn’t.

Gabe had once said that this job was glorified babysitting, and seeing as they basically serve as the human embodiment of a nanny cam, he wasn’t far off. Combing through a person’s electronic footprint can be tedious, repetitive work. Many people are cleared from the list merely from that level of observation, but if enough suspicion remains, they get bumped to a higher-risk pool, and that’s where the work gets somewhat more interesting. When the stakes become higher, the level of surveillance does as well, becoming more intrusive as the agents make use of tools like watching through webcams or screen-mirroring software as they work to identify who is truly a threat to the country.

At lunchtime, not even Gabe’s cajoling can get Cas to join them in the breakroom. He prefers to sit in the empty office and continue to go through his files in peace. When Hannah returns, she brings him a coffee and he smiles gratefully at her. She’s been a fine colleague over the years, a rare combination of rule-bound but open-minded. Unlike Cas, she’s never wanted to advance past this department, but she had been the first to congratulate him on his promotion, happy because she’d known how much it meant to him. Now, she leans against the cubicle wall and hands him the steaming cup.

“How’s the first day back treating you?”

It’s no secret that he’s been home for the past week, a “vacation” that was more suspension than break.

He holds the cup, needing something to do with his hands even though it’s slightly too hot.  “I’m...happy to have something to do.”

It’s not a lie. That week on his own was more punishment than Naomi could have imagined. It’s not that he’s let his work define him, exactly, but his career has been his most constant companion. When he thinks about his life, the important milestones correspond to the advancements he’s made from college to graduate school to the agency. His righteous indignation at being demoted was tempered one panic-filled night when the reality that he could’ve been outright fired sunk in. He couldn’t quite bring himself to be thankful to Naomi for stripping him of his position, but it was enough to let the fire of outrage inside him dwindle. He’s resigned to his fate but motivated anew. If he can keep his head down and prove to her that his judgement is intact, he’s certain he can return to the ranks he’d left.

“I know it’s not the same, but what we do here _is_ important.”

“I know it is,” Cas says, taking a sip of coffee. “We’re all working toward the same end.”

“Cogs in the same wheel,” Zachariah says, spouting the phrase Naomi often used. Unlike Hannah, Zachariah would have loved Cas’s promotion. When he didn’t get it, he doubled down on the job he did have, perhaps hoping that pure brown-nosing would be his ticket out. Considering the politics of this place, Cas muses, it isn’t a bad strategy.

By mid-afternoon, he’s down to the last three names on his lists. They’ve come in as a set and it’s Cas’s job to determine the connection between them. The first name, Ash Miles is already known to the agency thanks to his proficiency with computer systems and his predilection for using them to poke around places he shouldn’t, namely governmental agencies. The second is Charlie Bradbury aka Celeste Middleton, whose hacking has begun to raise some red flags. The third name is the one person both Ash and Charlie have in common: Dean Winchester.

First, he reviews the file on Ash. He’s done a lot of electronic probing, some borderline limit-pushing on some sensitive websites but nothing to indicate that he’s up to anything more than testing what he can do. Still, those are some baby steps worth keeping an eye on. His work history shows that he’s been employed by The Roadhouse, which looks to be the kind of place Gabe would call a “dive bar”. Cas has a general idea where it is although he doesn’t spend much time in that part of town. The guy would make for easy field surveillance, though, Cas thinks with a wistful sigh. Tall, skinny in a gawky way, and sporting an honest-to-God mullet.

Cas shifts his focus to Charlie. Another easy mark with that bright red hair. She’s a few years younger than Ash but just as talented with a computer. Looking at her search engine history, there are a number of terms that have Cas stumped, but in coming days he’ll take the time to go through them so that he can decide where she falls on the threat scale. Charlie is well-educated with an undergrad degree in computer science. She’s currently a full time graduate student, specializing in Artificial Intelligence, and it doesn’t look like she has time for much else. He swallows hard at this, the similarities to April’s situation not lost on him.

The third file is Dean’s. Not much on him. Mother died young in a house fire, Dad still alive but he must not be in the picture much if the fact that Dean became his younger brother’s legal guardian as soon as he turned eighteen is any indication. He drives an old car, an 1967 Chevrolet Impala originally bought by his father, but now in Dean’s possession. No college to speak of, currently working as a mechanic, work history shows that he spent time working at The Roadhouse as well, which explains his connection to Ash. Cas clicks back to Charlie’s file for a bit to determine how she connects to Dean and places her on the same hall in the same dorm as Dean’s brother Sam. Pulling up some pictures of Dean he finds a good-looking guy, a year younger than Cas at twenty-seven. Never married. A quick glance of Dean’s internet history has Cas groaning loudly enough that Gabe is on his feet.

“Got a good one?”

“Busty Asian Beauties,” Cas calls out. The rest of the gang makes appreciative noises.

“You’ve got your card, right?”

Cas raises an eyebrow. “Unless somebody won in the past seven months.”

Gabe dismisses that with a _pffft_. “You would’ve heard about that even at your big boy office.”

Inias looks between the two of them, confusion clearly written on his face.

Zachariah pipes up with “I got four that one time.” Cas sees Hannah roll her eyes.

Gabe rejects that with a wave of his hand. “Yes, we know. But four doesn’t get you the win.”

“Nobody has ever won in all the time I’ve been here,” Cas reminds him.

“It’s the holy grail, my friend.”

“I need a new copy.”

Clearing his throat, Inias asks, “Is this something I’m supposed to have...because I don’t think I got it.”

A look of utter delight crosses Gabe’s face. “You’ve been here a month. Think you’re ready?”

The more excited Gabe gets, the more Inias looks like he regrets opening his mouth. Smart kid, Cas decides.

“Be nice,” Hannah tells Gabe, before turning to Inias. “It’s a little game we play to keep things interesting. It’s basically a...bingo card. If one of your people does enough in a single day to get a bingo, you win.”

Inias visibly relaxes. “Oh, ok. That sounds fun.”

Zachariah snorts. “You’ll never beat four.”

“I’ll print you both a copy,” Gabe promises.

*

The next few weeks progress in a slog of mind-numbing days. Cas gets up early to go for a run before showering and heading to the office. He buys a sesame bagel with cream cheese and a cup of coffee in the little shop on the main floor before catching the elevator and settling into his cubicle. The sounds of typing and phone calls fill the space, each agent spending their days exactly as he is.

Dutifully, Cas researches, going through files to review phone calls and internet history. Surprisingly, he finds Ash has been spending a lot of time looking at things on the university website even though Charlie is the one enrolled there. From Charlie’s history he studies search terms and educates himself in the world of role playing games and LARPing. Dean appears to use his computer the least of any of them. Scattered in with porn (and there is _a lot_ of porn) are some classic rock music playlists and a lot of movies on Netflix. Mostly action movies but the occasional romantic comedy, making Cas wonder if he’s had a date over. He rules out Charlie pretty quickly since it doesn’t take a security clearance to google her social media and see how open she is about being a lesbian. She and Dean interact quite a bit, though. Multiple texts and even the occasional phone calls. In fact, there’s much more interaction between Dean and Charlie than there is between Charlie and her old college friend Sam, especially considering the fact that Sam lives with Dean in the apartment Dean rents.

Despite Ash’s computer activity, there’s no indication that he knows Charlie, at least not digitally. It’s entirely possible that Dean has introduced them in person, though. Charlie seems to be a run of the mill grad student, but Cas won’t let himself be complacent again. He’ll continue to watch and report what he observes.

Sometimes he eats lunch with his co-workers. Sometimes he fills his mug with more coffee and sits quietly in the empty office instead, eating the lunch he brought from home. Sometimes Gabe invites him for drinks after work, but he always says no, returning to his apartment where everything is just as he left it in the morning.

*

He often thinks back to his meeting with Naomi, the one where she informed him of his demotion and placed him on leave. The flush of shame he feels each time he does motivates him to be sure all his i’s are dotted and his t’s are crossed in hopes of being let off the short leash sooner than later. So, even though Cas can’t put his finger on any particular reason why he should, Dean goes on to the next level of surveillance along with Charlie and Ash. Better to cover his ass, he’s learned the hard way. Once that’s been approved, he gets the go ahead to see things in real time, instead of relying on logs and data. Now he can see the content of messages, not just when they were sent and who they were to. He can make use of remote electronic surveillance, either live or recorded. The first day he’s set up for this, he waits until he gets input from Dean’s laptop to know that he (or someone) is using it, and then he switches on the camera, studying its feed from his end. From the photo in his file, it’s definitely Dean but it soon becomes clear that the photograph has not done him justice. His features are nearly perfectly symmetrical, his mouth plush and his lashes long. There’s something almost delicate about each individual feature, but put together he’s one hell of an attractive man. His hair is shorter than in the pictures Cas has and it’s spiked up in a way that says he’s trying, but not too hard. It’s a little darker than it looks in the picture, too, maybe no longer sun-bleached now that it’s February. Cas spends a few moments just watching him, getting to know his expressions.

Despite the music playing loudly in the background, Cas can hear the tapping of keys. Dean looks down at his fingers when he types and Cas notes the way his tongue pokes between his teeth as he concentrates. Cas has watched a lot of people over a lot of webcams over the years and, despite the boredom inherent in this part of the job, at least this particular charge is easy on the eyes. Even though he’s only thought it, Cas finds himself looking around at the other cubicles furtively, as if one of them could read his mind. His sexuality is his own business, not relevant to his job or up for discussion. He prides himself on keeping his professional and private lives separate, a task that sounds noble, but is made easier by the fact that he has very little private life to speak of.

His assessment of this gift to his senses changes when Dean begins to whistle along with the music, then bursts into song, both painfully off key. He tugs out one ear bud, but there’s no escaping it completely. Cas doesn’t know the song, but a few clicks shows the youtube playlist and he’s able to identify it as Immigrant Song by Led Zeppelin.

Watching him, Cas starts to formulate a profile in his mind. There are curious gaps he’d like to fill. What’s happened with Dean’s father? Why did Dean have to step in so early as a parental figure to his brother? How does that mesh with the fact that he seems to be close with one of his younger brother’s friends? Dean is a confusing mixture of young and old….the car and music both belonging to an older generation while his friends are younger. Perhaps Cas did have reason to up his surveillance level, based on an underlying instinct to which he’s finally learned to listen. Cas continues to watch until Dean moves away from his computer. All he’s done is check emails and surf a few recipe sites. When Dean closes his laptop, Cas carefully records his observations and moves on to someone else.

As he gets to know each person's schedule, he falls into a routine. Ash is never up before noon so there’s no point on looking in on him during the morning. He learns Charlie’s class schedule and has yet to find her doing anything untoward on the university wifi. Dean is up early each morning (often texting his brother about what he wants for breakfast) but, other than a quick check first thing, he’s off his computer until Cas is almost done with work for the day.

He finds Ash looking at sites within one of the university science buildings, but he can’t find Charlie with any sort of connection to it. There’s still no conversation between Ash and Charlie and he hasn’t found record of Ash and Dean communicating by phone or digitally in over a year. Charlie and Dean, on the other hand, text nearly every day.

_Yo handmaiden_

**Dream on**

_I’m so bored_

**Aren’t you in class?**

_Hence the boredom braniac_

**Some of us have JOBS and can’t entertain you all day long.**

_You’d rather talk to an engine than me?_

**:X**

_Rude_

_How’s your cosplay coming along_

**Bad**

**Possibly hopeless**

_Never fear! Want help this weekend?_

**I will worship you forever**

_You already do_

Cas studies it. Despite what Gabriel might think, he does actually know about cosplay, although this handmaiden talk confuses him. While he understands intellectually what cosplay is, he cannot fathom why anyone would want to dress like some sort of...character. The desire to be someone you aren’t is a foreign one. Cas has designed his life exactly as he wanted it, and he’s checked each goal off his list as it’s been accomplished. Other than this recent setback, he’s been completely in control of his successes and he prides himself on the hard work he’s put in to get where he is. Well, maybe not exactly where he is at this particular moment, he thinks, as Dean logs on to his computer, already singing at the top of his lungs. He watches as Dean pretends to play a drum solo, followed quickly by an extended riff of air guitar. Maybe he’s going to dress as a rock and roll artist. That would make sense.

His day is almost done and Cas leaves the webcam running as he takes his suit coat from the back of his chair and puts it on, smoothing down his tie. He watches Dean headbang to the music, and finds himself smiling as he shuts down his computer for the day.


	2. Chapter 2

It’s not that he does it intentionally, but it just makes sense to save his focus on Dean for the end of the day. He tells himself that it’s the most efficient way to coordinate schedules but he also finds that having that particular surveillance awaiting him makes the rest of his day more tolerable. He makes sure not to rush through his other work, knowing full well that each person on his list requires his undivided attention. He’s too professional to work in any other capacity, so he looks and studies and researches. He tries to find patterns. He works to weed out what is and is not meaningful information and uses every tool at his disposal to determine what could constitute a threat. And then, after his mid-afternoon break, he allows himself time to focus on Dean’s case.

There’s been no more talk of the cosplay and Cas finds himself pondering what Dean needs it for. Telling himself no information can be ruled out, he scrolls through Dean’s Netflix account to see if anything there looks like it might lend itself to dressing up, but his findings are inconclusive. Whenever Dean logs on to his computer, Cas methodically scans the room looking for pieces of the costume but it’s not like scanning the background isn’t part of his job anyhow. Visual confirmation of illegal items is one of the most powerful pieces of the puzzle an agent can get. It helps that Dean’s apartment seems somewhat sparsely furnished. Cas has had to study people who are genuine hoarders and trying to make sense of what he was looking at was both overwhelming and nearly impossible.

So, he scans around for what he can see, looking for anything that might help him get a look at the bigger picture of Dean’s life. Dean usually has his laptop while he’s on the couch and, behind him, Cas can get a glimpse of a small kitchen. The couch itself looks utilitarian and somewhat worn. It seems a good match to Dean himself who favors old t-shirts and flannel overshirts. He’s caught sight of the brother, Sam, on occasion now that he’s been on this case for a few weeks. Sometimes he’s visible crossing the room in the background or rummaging through cabinets in the kitchen. Now and then Dean will call him over to see something, and Cas gets an up close view of him leaning over the back of the couch to watch whatever it is Dean’s pulled up. He has a nice way about him, Cas has decided. Even in the small moments he’s witnessed, Sam seems to humor his older brother, but in a gentle, non-judgemental way.

In this job, agents have to be prepared to witness people in all sorts of private moments. It was Gabe who had the guy who loved to use his laptop on the toilet. If that weren’t bad enough, Gabe always made sure to abandon his headphones and crank the volume up so that the entire office was treated to his long grunts followed by disturbing, wet plops. Day after day Gabe was able to mark off the “shit” square on his bingo card, but that guy didn’t give him much more than that.

Since being demoted, Cas has so far been spared anything too graphic, but he’d seen enough in this role over the years to not let it bother him. He assumes it's something akin to being a doctor, viewing the human body as nothing more than a scientific specimen. To do this job correctly, his focus needs to zero in on behavior, and that requires a nearly clinical severing of each person’s actions from the person themself. He’s witnessed people picking their nose or popping pimples, he’s seen them masturbating, he’s seen relationships start and marriages end. He’s seen an awful lot of fetish sex. There was little left to surprise him, but that’s what made him good at his job. The detachment that he’d cultivated served him well. Being in the field, however, had brought with it some difficulties he hadn’t anticipated. Namely, it became a lot harder to separate the action from the person when you weren’t watching them via camera. That two-dimensional image provided a buffer he hadn’t appreciated until it was gone. Maybe Naomi was right. Taking a step back to this unit might be exactly what he needed to regain his focus.

Today’s t-shirt looks well-loved, Cas thinks as he watches the footage from last night, like Dean’s had it for a long time and washed it so often that it’s faded and probably soft to the touch. There are some small holes sprouting along the collar and sometimes when Dean leans forward Cas can even see a loose thread.

Dean gets up to head into the kitchen, apparently working from a new recipe because he brings the laptop with him to refer back frequently to the page he has pulled up. It looks to be a hearty beef stew which involves a lot of chopping and, as always, an accompaniment of loud music blasting. Cas scrolls through the video until he sees Sam appear in the background then stops to listen in again. Blessedly, Dean pauses the music so he’s able to hear their entire conversation.

“Have you seen my running shorts?”

“I washed them. They’re over the shower rod drying.”

“I was gonna go for a run before dinner.”

“You have other shorts.”

“Yes, but I wanted to wear those.”

“Well, they were on your floor so I assumed they were dirty.”

There’s a loud sigh. “Maybe stay out of my room.”

“ _Maybe_ say thank you to me for doing your laundry.” There’s an edge to Dean’s voice Cas hasn’t heard before.

“Dean, I’m twenty-four years old I can do my own laundry.”

“Yes, but do you?”

Sam passes in front of the camera and stops to lean against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

“Yeah well…” Dean trails off.

“Good one, Dean.” Sam’s posture and tone softens. “I don’t need you to be my mom anymore.” Dean doesn’t answer but Cas hears him continuing to chop. “You’ve done a ton and I totally appreciate it but even if dad were still here he wouldn’t be doing all this stuff.”

“Dad did his best,” Dean says.

Dean can't see it, but Cas has a clear view of Sam rolling his eyes. He watches as Sam starts to say something then stops, like he’s thought better of it. There’s a long silence, broken only by what sounds like a lid being firmly placed on a pot before Sam says. “Anyway. Thanks for washing my stuff.”

Cas makes a mental note to look into John Winchester.

*

Cas eventually figures out that Dean’s cosplay will be for a live action role playing event that he and Charlie will be attending. Cas spends his weekends doing things he doesn’t always have a chance to do during the week like longer runs, cleaning, and sometimes napping. He looks forward to the uninterrupted time he has to read the latest book on the top of his pile and, if he orders out for dinners too often, he tells himself it’s worth it for the money he doesn’t have to spend on lunches, doling out the leftovers to bring from home. At work he hears the people in his office frequently complaining about things at home: Inias and his wife had their hands full with a sick baby, Zachariah’s mother-in-law came for a visit and spent four days making snide remarks about him to his wife. Living with other people seems fraught with mess and complication, and these stories leave him enjoying the solitude of his weekends even more.

Gabe, who seems to always have a significant other, still tries to lure Cas out with invitations to happy hours or movies. Once, he invited Cas to a Rock and Bowl which apparently combined loud music, alcohol, and bowling into a confusing confluence that sounded more like a punishment than entertainment. He’s offered to set Cas up with friends of his girlfriend, but after enough times of having his invitations politely declined, he’s mostly stopped offering. Cas thought moving to his own office would put an end to these invitations and, for the most part, it had. Strangely, even though he had no interest in attending, he found that he missed being asked. He hadn’t thought he needed the company of other people at work, and he’d looked forward to having his own office as one of the best perks of his promotion, but it turned out that the hours alone weren’t as welcome as he’d imagined. He craved it when he was around people all day, needing it as a respite, but when his default situation was solitary, at times the quiet of his office felt nearly suffocating. Maybe other people compensated by mingling with co-workers during breaks, but that had never been Castiel’s strong suit.

Despite his misgivings, sometimes Cas thought it might be nice to be in a relationship. He knew the agency couldn’t fire him for being gay, but the thought of having that private part of him revealed and scrutinized was enough for him to instead spend his weekends buying a few more books and ordering more Thai food. He’d knew there were people who realized early on that they were gay, some who embraced it wholeheartedly while others tried to keep it hidden away for years. Cas had come to the realization embarrassingly late. He’d been considered a late bloomer, never dating until college. The few girlfriends he’d had were a pleasant distraction and he enjoyed their company but nonetheless, they seemed to find him lacking. No matter how attentive of a boyfriend he tried to be, after a few months they broke up with him. It wasn’t until he saw his roommate shirtless one day—a sight he’d seen countless times—and was hit with a wave of desire unlike anything he’d ever felt before, did he even entertain the thought. His roommate was decidedly not gay, however, as evidenced by the number of times Cas found himself locked out of his own room when he brought girls home. Cas’s feelings confused and surprised him, but, like everything else, he analyzed them thoroughly and came to the conclusion that admitting them or acting on them would do nothing but complicate his living situation. It became easier at that point to push them down and pretend they weren’t there. Understanding his newfound sexuality didn’t change things for him too much because, while he was able to appreciate the male form, he didn’t get hit with that same intensity of feeling again for quite some time.

Given what he did for a living, he kept his own online history squeaky clean. He had a small stash of pornography that he’d bought over the years, always using cash, but sometimes he envied people like Dean who had it actually bookmarked on his computer, right there for anyone to find.

On this particular Sunday, Cas finds himself sitting in his favorite chair, a container of half-eaten pad thai on the side table, and a book open in his hands. The book was one he’d looked forward to starting, but now he’s having to re-read the same few paragraphs over and over. When it still refuses to sink into his brain, he decides perhaps a nap is in order and sets the book in his lap, tipping back his head to close his eyes. However, sleep eludes him and the feeling that he’s wasting his day begins to nag at him, leaving him antsy and unsatisfied. Sighing, he bookmarks his place, puts away the leftovers, and changes into slacks and a shirt. He grabs his I.D. and walks to his office in the cold under a sky that threatens rain.

The office is delightfully empty and Cas feels his focus return as he lets himself into the shared workspace. Settling into his chair, he logs into his computer to do a quick check of his list. He intends to save Dean for last as he always does but as he’s going through Charlie’s things, he finds that she’s posted a number of new pictures in a Facebook group and tagged Dean in some of them. Pulling them up, he finds an entire album of pictures from their LARPing event the day before.

Cas squints at the pictures, trying to make sense of them. The costumes look sort of medieval, almost as if it’s some sort of reenactment. There seem to be a lot of ceremonial things happening, like people kneeling before Charlie who is dressed as some sort of queen perhaps. Many people are carrying fake weapons, like swords and shields. In the photos, Cas can clearly see other people going about their business at the park where this event took place, and he’s struck with a wave of second-hand embarrassment. He can think of fewer things less appealing than to dress up and play make-believe out in public like that. But, there is no denying that the people look like they’re having fun. He only has to click through a few photos before he finds one of Dean, standing proudly in a deep red tunic and brandishing a fake weapon. In another photo, he has an arm slung around Charlie’s shoulders and he’s smiling broadly. It had rained on and off yesterday, and one picture shows him soaked to the bone, head tossed back as he laughs. He’s wet and splattered with mud, yet he looks so delighted that Cas finds himself smiling back at the screen. He’s zooming in on the photo to see the way his spiky hair has been flattened by the rain when he hears footsteps. Looking up, he finds Naomi standing in the doorway.

He resists the urge to get to his feet, like he needs to stand and salute her, compromising instead by sitting ramrod straight in his chair.

“I saw the light on,” she says.

“I thought I’d come in and get a little work done while things were quiet.”

“It’s nice to see you putting in the extra effort.” She gives him her best approximation of a smile.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her face softens a little and she takes a few steps toward his desk. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you, Castiel.”

From her position, she can’t see Dean’s face taking up a large portion of his screen but he hesitates, wondering if reaching for his mouse to close the image will make him look more or less suspicious. He keeps his hands in his lap, twisting them together under his desk.

“No,” he begins, “but I am anxious to show you that I have learned from my mistake.”

“Well, seeing you here on a Sunday tells me how seriously you are taking your work.”

His eyes dart down to Dean’s face, then back to his boss. “Yes, ma’am.”

“You let yourself get derailed by misplaced compassion. There is no room for that here. People come into this line of work because they want to keep the world a safe place. It’s a noble endeavor but it requires an exacting and unsentimental vigilance. Try to think of them as threats, not people.”

There’s a brief hesitation before he responds again. “Yes, ma’am.”

She nods and leaves the office. Cas closes out the Facebook window and shuts down his computer. April had seemed so innocuous. She and her boyfriend had both been under investigation, but, with the simple application of a piece of tape over her laptop camera, it had been impossible to know which one of them had been researching explosives. Even if it had been her, she was attending a graduate program in creative writing, so it wasn’t a far stretch to think those searches had been made in order to aid her writing. Cas had watched her closely, noting the way she attended classes faithfully, even observed her taking part in charity work to feed and bring supplies to homeless people living on the street. He’d cleared her as a suspect only to discover she’d driven two states over in an attempt to buy large amounts of fertilizer. When questioned by agents in that jurisdiction, she’d confessed to everything, detailing the radicalization Cas had seen but dismissed. The memory sits heavy and cold as an iceberg in his stomach as he stares at the black screen.

*

John Winchester is surprisingly easy to find.

He’s currently living with a woman in a run-down apartment complex on the outskirts of town nearly four hundred miles away. He works part-time unloading deliveries at a warehouse and, if his ATM withdrawals are any indication, he spends much of his time at a bar that’s in walking distance of his apartment. Scrolling through his record, Cas finds an ongoing pattern. John gets arrested, usually for drunk and disorderly, sometimes with a charge of assault just to shake things up. He lays low for awhile before getting a new job that he manages to hold for varying amounts of time. The shortest looks to be four days, the longest hovers at a little over a year (Cas double checks dates and determines this was when Dean and Sam were both still in school and living with him.) Then the cycle continues with another arrest followed by a new job, often with a change in location to go with it. From the looks of things, he dragged the boys along with him, moving as far south as Florida and as far north as North Dakota with plenty of stops along the way. Once Dean got old enough to become Sam’s legal guardian, the brothers stayed put and Cas can see that Sam was enrolled in the same high school from freshman year until he graduated. He finds very little in the way of recent communication between John and his sons. The last phone call was more than a year and a half ago, but since then Dean has had a few outgoing call attempts to John’s old cell number which is apparently no longer in service.

There’s nothing else to indicate that they’ve been in contact and a look at John’s recent credit card history shows nothing that would place him anywhere but close to his current location, no visits to his boys. Once he’s able to identify John’s current phone number, he concludes that there’s been no contact between John and Ash or Charlie, either. Just because he can, Cas sets an alert to be sent to him if anything indicates John has a new arrest or travels outside a fifty-mile radius from his home.  

He’s just finishing that when he hears a hissed  _shit_ coming from Inias’s cubicle. Looking up, he sees the new agent’s face is pale, his mouth tensed into a thin line.

“You got something good?” Gabe calls out. “Need a bingo marker?”

Still staring at his screen, Inias shakes his head faintly. “I...I think they’ve made me.”

Concern rippling through him, Cas tries to clarify. “What do you mean?”

“They’re talking about me like they know I’m there. They’re talking _to_ me.”

Gabe is out of his chair instantly. The rest of the team stops all work to focus in on what’s happening. All eyes are on Gabe as he moves to stand behind Inias to check out his screen. His shrewd eyes take it all in. “Shit. This is bad.”

“I don’t know how it happened? I’ve done everything according to the protocols, I swear!” From where he sits, Cas can see the sheen of sweat that has broken out on Inias’s forehead. He can also see Gabe lift his gaze from the screen and wink at the rest of them.

Gabe lets out a loud sigh. “Naomi is not going to be happy about this.”

“How did this even happen? What did I do wrong?” There’s the sound of frantic clicking as Inias cycles through his open windows.

“I mean, I guess she might not fire you. She does like to demote people, though. Look at Cas, here. He’s fallen far to land among the likes of us.”

Zachariah looks thoughtful. “Where would a demotion from here leave you?”

“Mailroom, maybe?” Hannah offers. “Reception desk?”

“Oh my God,” Inias says. “I have a wife and a baby. I need this job.”

Cas bites his lip to keep from smiling. Inias is suffering but he knows Gabe won’t be so cruel as to drag this out much longer.

Gabe taps on the screen with his finger. “Maybe it’s not all bad. They don’t seem to know exactly who you are.”

“I know, but it sounds like they know I’m watching. All this talk about what they’re watching on Netflix and some of them are directly asking me questions? Like am I mad at them?”

“Are they using your name?”

“No, it just says ‘government agent’ in most of these,” Inias says. “Well, this one calls me Mr. FBI Man.”

The rest of them burst out laughing and Inias’s head snaps up from his screen. Mouth open, he looks between them all, baffled at their response. Gabe gives him a friendly slap on the shoulder. “Relax. It’s a meme. It has nothing to do with you.”

“It’s a meme,” Inias repeats slowly.

“Some of them _are_ frighteningly accurate,” Hannah says.


	3. Chapter 3

A week or so later Cas is sitting at his desk gamely going through his day. The monotony of the job has begun to weigh on him as he sits and sits and sits some more. It’s Thursday, at least, so the weekend is right around the corner. A glance around the office shows that he's the only one feeling this torpor as the rest of his co-workers seem to be enthusiastically engaged. Gabriel is crunching loudly on M & M’s and Hannah’s head nods in a regular rhythm so Cas knows she’s listening to music on her headphones. The rhythmic sound of Zachariah tapping his fingers on his desk becomes hypnotic and Cas lets his eyes unfocus as he stares at his screen, there in body but mentally checked out. The string of cold, wet days is supposed to continue through the weekend and, while he doesn’t relish a run in the rain, the thought of running indoors on a treadmill holds even less appeal. He’ll plan to get up a little earlier on Saturday and run before the rain starts in earnest. After that, he’s got a new mystery waiting for him on his bedside table ,and devoting the weekend to curling up with that will be his reward. Pulling himself back to the present, he sighs and moves on to review the next set of logs and recordings. Once he gets through this set, he can pull up Dean’s from last night.

With that motivation, he works more quickly, and before long, he’s opening up Dean’s file with a sense of pleasant anticipation. The laptop, which usually has the familiar background of Dean’s kitchen has been relocated. It’s so disconcerting that it takes Cas an extra moment to realize what he’s seeing, but it’s definitely a bedroom. The computer isn’t open all the way and the camera picks up the mussed covers on a bed. It stays that way for several moments and when it open fully, Cas nearly gasps at what he sees. Dean stands mostly naked, dressed only in a pair of what appear to be pink panties. Made for women, they stretch tightly against his skin, clinging to the outline of his already semi-erect penis. Cas is still trying to reconcile this image in his brain when there’s a blur of movement and the scene resets.  Now Dean is on the bed, propped up against the wooden headboard with a pillow behind him. There’s a close up of Dean’s face as he leans toward the camera to tap at something on the keyboard, and then he sits back again, his hands moving around just out of view. As Cas watches, Dean makes himself comfortable, relaxing back against the pillow. The laptop shifts again and Cas has the perfect view of Dean running his fingertips over the satin, tracing the shape of his cock as it grows and fills out the fabric. The camera is so good that Cas can see the way the fabric darkens when Dean rubs a thumb over the head, smearing the moisture forming there. Moments later, he slides the waistband down just enough to free his cock, keeping the bunched up panties on otherwise. He grips it lightly, just an easy touch to begin with, curling his fingers loosely up and down the shaft as his eyes stay focused on the screen. While the video he’s watching has the volume turned low, Cas can still make out the sounds of faint moaning. As Cas watches, Dean’s eyes flick away from the screen toward what must be his bedroom door, and Cas understands that Sam must be home.

Cas should fast forward through this. There’s nothing to be gained from watching, no intel that can be gathered. As something he’s seen countless times before with other people he’s monitored, he shouldn’t be surprised by it, and yet he’s still caught off guard. Sure, he could call it out for the bingo game, but genitalia is so common, it’s the center square of the card. Besides, he doesn’t feel like drawing attention to himself right now. He’s about to click away, to give Dean his privacy when Dean makes a soft sound and catches his lower lip with his top teeth. Cas feels something squirm inside his gut, a little flutter of something unexpected and warm, and it’s enough to have him pausing the video while he glances around to see if anyone has noticed him. The office is much as it was the last time he checked, each person focused on their own work. Heart pounding, Cas starts the video again. Like the rest of them, Cas has his headphones on so there’s no way any of them can hear what’s happening on his screen. One minute, he tells himself. He’ll watch for sixty second to make sure nothing happens that he needs to know about. Dean continues to touch himself, hand curling tighter as his speed increases. He stops now and then to swipe his thumb over the head of his cock even as his hips begin to rock upward. He shifts position and the camera angle leaves much of Dean’s face cut off, but Cas can see the flush moving down across his chest as his breathing becomes more ragged. Cas squirms a little in his desk chair, trying to keep his own breathing even. He’s transfixed watching as Dean snakes one hand up over his stomach to twist at a quickly hardening nipple. Dean’s beginning to moan, brief sounds that attach to each breath, when movement in Cas’s peripheral vision has him scrambling to close the window and yank out his headphones. It’s just Inias, he realizes, stretching his arms over his head as he yawns. Cas’s own sudden movement is enough to get his attention as well and Inias catches his eye and smiles at him. It’s a friendly smile, nothing to make Cas think that he suspects anything. Cas smiles back, nodding acknowledgement, before carefully resuming his work. He’s horrified to realize he spent an additional three and a half minutes watching Dean despite his intention to give it sixty seconds.

They’ve been trained on this, trained on ways to stay professional and detached while delving deeper and deeper into their subject’s lives. Potential threats, not people. Look for what is important. Prioritize the input. Check for context. Verify. Observe and report.

It was a momentary lapse, he assures himself. _A three-and-half-minute lapse to be precise_ , another part of his brain helpfully reminds him. Scowling at his computer screen, he clicks on Dean’s browser history instead, expecting to see something else in the Busty Asian Beauties catalog. Instead he finds something called Cocky Boys. Squinting, he tries to make sense of it and, darting his eyes around the room first, even though he has every right to investigate the link, he clicks on it to find his suspicions confirmed. Dean was watching gay porn. Cas tilts his head as he watches the first few moments unfold on screen. It must require some impressive muscle control to do that in a hammock.

This incident is concerning enough to provide the shock to his system that he needs. For the next week he rearranges his schedule so that he deals with Dean’s case in the middle of the day, no longer giving it a special time slot. He goes through his work methodically as always and when he finds himself noticing something like the fact that Dean seems to have purchased a new green shirt that brings out his eyes, he acknowledges said fact then takes a moment to detach himself from the emotional component of it. At home, though, he continues to find himself thinking about what he’d seen. He spends hours trying to decipher why this particular interlude had an effect on him in a way that other sexual encounters he’s witnessed had not. Maybe it was the surprise appearance of the women’s underwear that threw him off his game. He’d never before been tempted to continue watching something that intimate, In the past, he’d merely accepted it as part of the human condition, skipping over it unless there was some factor to make it relevant to his case.

Cas focuses on it, using his logic and reason to try and break down what went wrong so that he can prevent it from happening again. When Naomi demoted him, she accused him of getting too close to the people in his charge, and he is bound and determined not to let another occurrence interfere with his goal of getting his field job back. He goes so far as to make a list, writing down on a pad of paper what it is about Dean that makes it hard for Cas to stay objective. Physical attractiveness goes at the top of that list, of course. He’s quite sure that no one, man or woman, could be immune to that level of physical beauty. How could they be? Cas finds himself pondering whether it’s the symmetry of his features or the long-lashed green eyes or the plush lips that captures most people’s attention. Shaking his head to rouse himself from his train of thought, he underlines “physical attractiveness” twice more before moving on to the next thing.

He also likes the way Dean doesn’t care what people think. He sings loudly and off key. He dresses in costume and goes out in public and, from the pictures Cas has seen, has a genuinely good time. He has also somehow acquired a pair of pink panties for his own pleasure. Cas has seen evidence that he is a loyal, caring person and, even though Sam seems frustrated with what he calls Dean being a “mother hen”, there is a warm affection between the brothers. And not that Cas thinks men should act a certain way but he likes that for every stereotypical “guy” thing Dean does like fixing cars or listening to classic rock music, there’s also something surprising like a love of cooking or, well, gay porn.

Cas finds himself wondering about that gay porn a lot, wondering if maybe later on a woman shows up and joins in. But even if that is the case, the part Dean was masturbating to only featured two men having sex.  It’s not lost on Cas that he’d be better off looking it up at work in the name of thorough research than risking a search for it on his home computer, but he resists the urge to do so. If Cas uses the visual of Dean touching himself while he does the same thing in the shower after his run on Saturday morning, well, there’s no evidence of that that can be traced back to him.

Still, he’s antsy all weekend, filled with a pent up energy that he can’t seem to shake. He doesn’t sleep well and wakes early on Sunday morning even though he doesn’t have anywhere to be or anything to do. Rolling over and shoving the pillow over his head does nothing to shut off his brain and let him sleep some more, so eventually he gets out of bed to start his day. He makes more coffee than he generally does, assuming he’ll need it to sustain him. Sundays mean grocery shopping, so he makes a paper list, then recopies it onto his phone putting the items into the order in which he will encounter them. Pushing the cart slowly through the aisles has a calming property and he stops to select some items that he normally wouldn’t, like a new kind of granola bar that he can take to work for a mid-morning snack and some sort of kombucha that’s supposed to provide energy naturally.

By the time he gets back home, he’s still a bit fuzzy-headed but at least he’s prepared for the coming week. He puts the food away and fixes himself some lunch which he eats standing at his kitchen counter. Checking the clock, he realizes it’s time to call his mother, which he does every other Sunday afternoon. He tries to keep the focus on his siblings, asking her questions to keep her talking about them instead of delving into his life, but he can only hold her off for so long.

“How’s work?”

“The same.”

“Do tell Gabriel hello for me. I’m glad you’re working with him again.”

Castiel has no idea how Gabriel managed to charm his mother, but he certainly had. She’d never met him, but apparently the few things Cas had told her were enough for her to decide they were friends, which, Cas supposed, was technically true.

He bites his tongue, quite literally so that he won’t snap at her, but his tone is still clipped when he says, “I’ll be sure to.”

She sighs. “Honey, I know this is disappointing to you, I just want you to be sure you’re doing what you want to do, not what you think you should.”

“We’ve been through this, mother.” He rubs the heel of one hand against his temple to try and thwart the impending headache.

“I know. I’m sorry. I just want you to be happy.”

She knew about the demotion, he’d explained in the vaguest of terms that he’d been sent back to his old position to shore up some skills, but she hadn’t seemed to understand how deeply it had wounded him. In fact, when he’d first called her, excited to tell her about the promotion, she’d responded less than enthusiastically. She’d expressed pride in him, but questioned whether it was really the job for him. He’d bristled at having his decisions undermined, rebuffing her concerns, angry that she hadn’t understood what this accomplishment meant to him.

“I know you do.” Even worse, in retrospect, some of her concerns had been spot on. Things like the loss of his current group of co-workers, and taking on a job that relied on his people skills, which were decidedly rusty at best.

He ends the conversation soon after, telling her he’s going for a run. After he hangs up, he debates changing his clothes and doing just that, reasoning that the fresh air and exercise will perk him up. Ultimately, he decides to give himself a break, and takes his bottle of kombucha into his room so that he can put his feet up and read in bed. It’s a good plan, one he congratulates himself for as he settles back against the pillows and loses himself in his novel. The novel is so engrossing that he fumbles the drink as he tries to replace the lid and drops it, spilling the contents all over himself and his bed.

Swearing, he scrambles to his feet to pull off his wet jeans. They’re only damp, but that’s because his comforter has taken the brunt of it. He yanks at it, like a magician pulling off a tablecloth, in hopes of stopping the spread of liquid before it seeps through all the layers. Pleased to find that his sheets remain dry, he sighs and considers his options. The odds of finding a free washing machine in his building’s small laundry facility on a Sunday are slim and, even if he did, he’s learned the hard way that it’s going to take multiple cycles in the dryer and still he’ll likely end up with cold, wet spots.

So much for his quiet Sunday.

He grabs a pair of khakis from the back of his closet and puts them on before gathering up the comforter, some detergent, and his book. He lugs everything down the two flights of stairs from his apartment and throws them all in his car, bound for a laundromat he’s passed on his way to work but never used. Not surprisingly, it’s crowded and busy and he’s forced to drop the comforter on the floor so that he can use the change machine. Armed with a pocketful of quarters, he manages to find a couple of open washers in the corner and gets one started, settling into a nearby plastic chair with his book to wait out the cycle.

It’s scarcely ten minutes later when he glances up, his attention caught by someone walking past where he’s sitting. Cas tightens his grip on the book as he registers what he sees. Dean Winchester is pulling laundry out of a bag and shoving it into the washer next to his. There’s no denying it’s him; Cas has observed him enough to recognize his face as well as the particular plaid shirt he’s wearing. Cas can’t help but notice a few things right away, like the way his brown hair looks a few shades lighter in person and how pronounced his bowed legs are. He watches as Dean slams the washer shut then feeds in quarters. Maybe he senses Cas watching because Dean’s eyes meet his, just for a moment, before Cas hurriedly looks back down at his book.

Every instinct is telling him to flee the laundromat. Still clutching his book, he tries to think things through. The impulse to abandon the premises is strong, but he can’t just leave. His laundry is mid-cycle and getting up to walk out of the building now might arouse more suspicion than calmly sitting here.

 _You’re a trained professional. You’ve done field work,_ Cas reminds himself. _Not very much, though. Since you screwed up and got demoted._ Using his peripheral vision, he sees Dean walk down the aisle away from him, and breathes a sigh of relief. _Ok, just go about your business and get through this._

He stares down at his book some more, letting his heart rate return to normal after the close call. A minute passes, then another, with no sign of Dean. Hopefully he’s gone elsewhere to wait. Cas gets to his feet, leaving the book on his seat to step carefully over to check the status of his washer. Knowing how many minutes he has left will help him plan for further eventualities. Twenty-six minutes. Might as well be a lifetime. He leans a little closer, peering into the glass window as if he can determine whether his comforter is possibly progressing ahead of schedule. Next to his washer, Dean’s clothes slowly tumble, picking up speed as the washer fills. He sees jeans and the bright blue of a t-shirt and some things he can’t identify in the foaming detergent. Realizing he might be watching Dean’s underwear spin past, he quickly turns away to make a beeline back to his chair, nearly tripping over his own two feet when he sees Dean Winchester sitting in the seat next to his, twisting the lid off a soda.

Dean smiles at him as he approaches, and Cas waits for him to say something, to call him out for being inappropriate. It was bad enough to be caught looking at him, now he’s literally spying on his dirty laundry. But Dean stays silent so Cas gives him a hint of a nod and busies himself picking up his book and sitting back down.

_Crisis averted. Just play it cool._

Dean leans toward him just the slightest bit, pretending to be absorbed in looking at the label on the bottle. “See anything you like?”

Cas’s head snaps up. “I wasn’t—I didn’t—”

Dean laughs, his teeth bright and white as he does. “Relax, man. It’s all good.” He gestures with the soda. “Helluva way to spend a Sunday.”

Small talk. Not Cas’s strong suit, but something he can do. He thinks for a moment before responding. “Yeah,” he finally says.

Dean looks him up and down. “If I had to guess, I’d bet you went to church this morning, then caught up on some paperwork. Maybe dinner with the in-laws later.”

Cas looks down at his polo shirt and khakis. Dean has no idea what a perfect out he’s giving him. All Cas needs to do is agree. Only, Cas is the one who works with profiles, observing the little details that allow him to piece together clues. How dare Dean think he can take one look at him and make assumptions based on nothing but the clothes he happens to be in at this particular moment? It rankles Cas to have his own work treated with such belittlement, even though Dean is unaware of what he does. “I’m not married,” Cas informs him.

Dean glances at him and then away again, more warmly this time, and Cas feels his heart skip a beat as he realizes how his response must sound.

“I mean, I…” he trails off when Dean turns to look directly at him.

“But I was right about the rest?”

“No.” Cas says firmly. Until he remembers the bills he paid. “Ok, a little bit of paperwork.”

“Nailed it,” Dean says proudly.

Outraged, Cas closes his book, all pretense of reading gone. “You got one out of three right. How is that ‘nailing it’?”

“Did you just…?”

Cas drops his air-quoting hands to his lap but he can’t stop himself from muttering, “In no situation does that count as nailing it.”

Relaxing back into his seat, Dean stretches his legs out in front of him. “Ok, so tell me how wrong I am. What did you do today?”

Cas thinks of his time in the shower and wills a flush from creeping across his face. Finally, a bit of his training kicks in and he thinks to take control by redirecting the conversation. “I didn’t know each load of laundry came with a free interrogation.”

“Interrogation?” Dean shrugs his broad shoulders. "I’m just making conversation. We’ve both got time to kill so…”

“Fine,” Cas says. “Why don’t you tell me about your day, then?”

“I thought you’d never ask. _My_ day was good. Got a call from somebody I haven’t heard from in awhile.”

Oddly, Cas’s first inclination is one of annoyance. “Got a hot date?” It seems like the thing someone in this situation would say, but the words feel weird coming out of his mouth.

Dean unscrews the lid from his soda and takes a long drink before answering. “Hardly. It was my dad.”

Cas’s mind whirs. What has made John Winchester reappear in his son’s life after such a long absence? What had they talked about? Was Dean making plans to see him? Lost in thought, he finds himself staring at Dean’s hands as he replaces the lid. He tries to think of something to say that will be both casual and appropriate. “I see. It sounds like you were glad to hear from him.”

“I was,” Dean says, with no trace of hesitation. “My brother was less than thrilled but they’ve never gotten along, so...anyhow. That was my day. Slept in, made breakfast, talked to my dad, and here I am.” He nods at Cas encouragingly. “Your turn.”

“I had breakfast, went grocery shopping, spilled a drink all over my bed...and now here I am.”

Dean shakes his head slowly. “You’re lying to me.” A flare of panic flashes through Cas and he works to keep his face neutral. There’s no way Dean can know anything else. “You left out the paperwork.”

Without meaning to, Cas exhales loudly and tries to turn it into a laugh. “You’re right. That was between breakfast and the grocery store.”

“So, what do you do, anyhow?” It’s a logical question and Cas should’ve seen it coming.

“I...work at a nursery.”

“You work with babies?”

“Plants, not babies. Definitely not babies.” Jesus, Cas needs to get his shit together.

“Plants, huh? That sounds...interesting.” Cas had worked at a nursery one summer during college. It had been hard work: digging, hauling, long hours under the sun. It had also brought him an unexpected sense of peace and accomplishment watching as small beginnings from the sheltered greenhouse flourished and grew with the proper care. He’d slept better that summer than he maybe ever had, his body worn out to the point that even his churning brain couldn’t keep him from falling right asleep at the end of each day. He’d gone back to school tanned, newly muscled, and with redoubled determination to get his degree. Even with Dean looking directly at him, he’s able to spout out a couple of details to pass off his cover story.

Dean listens, nodding intermittently. “Sounds like what we do isn’t too different,” he says when Cas is done speaking.

‘What do you do?”

“I’m a mechanic so I’m guessing we both do a fair amount of problem solving and scrubbing underneath our nails at the end of the day.”

Cas is tempted to hide his clearly not work-roughened hands out of view, but stops at curling his hands into fists to conceal his pristine nails. He manages a laugh. “I suppose so. But I don’t get to lie down on the job.”

Dean laughs, his eyes crinkling. “Ok, fair point. But that’s not as relaxing as it looks.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Dean, by the way.”

Cas is literally saved by the bell when the timer on his washer buzzes loudly. He jumps to his feet, ignoring Dean’s outstretched hand. “I’m James. Nice talking to you.” He gathers up his book and his detergent and goes to pull the wet comforter out of the washer, carrying it over to the other side of the laundromat to find an open dryer. Once he has the dryer going, he rests his forehead against the smooth metal of the machine, letting the rhythmic spinning lull his breathing back to a normal rate.

He stays in the laundromat while his comforter spins, not hiding exactly but staying out of sight as best he can. Still, it’s like he can feel Dean’s presence on the other side of the building, like the very air is charged by his proximity. Cas does his best to talk himself down. If he’d been here on surveillance, being attuned to Dean’s presence would have felt empowering, the sign of a job well done. Being able to subtly observe in real life was an invaluable skill, the most powerful tool they had for understanding people and their behavior and relationships. It’s just the element of surprise, he tells himself. The unexpected sighting of Dean out of the blue. Cas is sure it has happened to other agents; they work in a regional office so it’s to be expected that their paths may inadvertently cross those of the people they are monitoring. In fact, it’s such a given that there are protocols and procedures to follow when it does occur. The important thing is that Cas didn’t give anything away. He did his job as best he could, given the circumstances.

Unable to linger any more, he stops the dryer with seven minutes still on the timer. One small spot still feels damp, but it’s nothing he can’t deal with. He folds the now-clean comforter as neatly as he can and gathers up the rest of his things to head out to the parking lot. A furtive glance down the rows sees Dean still sitting where he had been, his head bent over something on his phone. Cas slips out the door like he’s the one being watched and takes in a deep breath of cool air as he heads toward the safety of his car. Parked next to his nondescript sedan is, of course, a big, shiny black classic car. One well known to him thanks to Dean’s file. Normally, not much about a car like that would register with Cas, other than worrying that its boat-like proportions might have him hemmed in on one side. But he knows that it’s a 1967 Chevrolet Impala, bought by one John Winchester and now in his son’s possession. It’s still registered to John, but his in name only seeing as he hasn’t even been bothered to visit his sons in over a year.

There’s more room on the passenger side, so Cas starts there, placing the folded up comforter neatly on the back seat. He makes his way between his car and Dean’s but before he gets in, it occurs to him that he has a unique opportunity. Seeing as it’s right there, it might not hurt to peek into the car window to carry out a quick visual sweep for anything suspicious. A little intelligence gathering, he reasons, as he takes in the sleek lines of the Impala. He’s still standing at his own driver’s side door when he hears a voice.

“She’s a beauty, isn’t she?”

It’s all Cas can do to keep himself from jumping a foot in the air.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, James.”

“You caught me off guard is all,” Cas says in what must be the understatement of the year. “This is your vehicle?”

Dean shakes his head slightly, a smirk playing around his mouth.  “It’s not my _vehicle_.” He runs an admiring hand along the line of the trunk. “She’s my Baby.”

“Your car is your baby?” Cas can’t keep the bafflement out of his voice.

“We’ve been together a long time. She’s been there for me when almost nobody else was.”

It’s an odd sentiment. Cas makes a mental note to investigate whether losing a mother at an early age can cause people to bond with inanimate objects. “It’s very nice.”

“She’s not _very nice_ ,” Dean makes air quotes at him and Cas can feel himself blushing. Leaning one hip against the Impala in an extremely appealing way, he continues, “She’s awesome.”

Cas wishes he were still holding the comforter so he’d have something to do with his hands, which suddenly seem obvious in their uselessness. “It’s an impressive car,” he admits.

Dean’s smile brightens. “I knew you were a man with excellent taste.”

Cas finds himself smiling back, just for a moment, warmth flooding through him at winning Dean’s approval. But as he starts to say something further, Cas remembers himself and cuts the conversation off. “Nice meeting you. Goodbye, Dean.”

He’s studied enough body language to catch the slight droop in Dean’s shoulders and the way his smile falters. Hurriedly, Cas turns away and starts up his car. He doesn’t look at Dean again as he pulls out of the parking lot.

Back at his apartment, he shakes the comforter open and remakes his bed only to find that the still-damp spot is on the side where he sleeps. He spends far too long staring at the bed wondering if he could sleep on the other side. He considers the lamp and his phone charger, both on the night table. He considers moving the night table and everything on it to the other side of the bed, but there’s not enough space between the bed and wall. He’s considering pushing the bed away from the wall to accommodate the change for one night, when he stops and realizes he can turn the comforter instead.

He does exactly that, then lets himself fall face first onto the bed.


	4. Chapter 4

Monday morning he arrives at work still unsettled by the encounter. He’s spent a number of hours lying awake running through how the interaction had played out, trying to decide what he could’ve done differently. He could have removed himself from the situation earlier, he decides, going out to his car while his laundry finished. Just because he and Dean were in the same relatively small building didn’t mean they had to interact. He knows that his surprise at seeing Dean put him at a disadvantage and caused him to react too slowly. He knows that Dean had no idea Cas was playing through multiple scenarios in his head as they talked and probably assumed Cas was socially awkward and unable to make easy small talk. Which wasn’t exactly out of character for Cas seeing as he has a long history of being socially awkward and unable to make easy small talk. Along with chastising himself for not having responded according to his training, Cas wonders why Dean continued to speak with him despite his blundering responses. Inside the laundromat, he could chalk it up to Dean being a friendly, outgoing person, traits that his surveillance had certainly uncovered and verified. But Cas can’t shake the fact that he’d come outside, too, seemingly looking to continue their conversation.

As disconcerting as it had been, it had also been pleasant, and there’s a part of Cas that is flattered by the attention. A small part, but still. Whatever his feelings, he reminds himself that despite everything, their interaction remained harmless. He’d given Dean a fake name and false personal information. On top of that, he has no future plans to return to the laundromat or any other place Dean frequents.

Still, he should probably report it. Lost in thought over this matter, he walks right past Zachariah, causing him to repeat his greeting. “I said ‘Good morning, Castiel’.”

Cas runs a hand through his hair. “Good morning, Zachariah.”

Zachariah’s smile is mostly a sneer. “Nice you could join us.”

“How was your weekend?” Cas can think of few things he cares about less.

“My personal time is my own. In case you hadn’t noticed, we are here to work.” Zachariah sighs loudly and makes a point of looking at his computer screen.

Cas heads toward his own cubicle. “I’m sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night.”

Inias enters with a large cup of coffee in one hand. “You’d fit in great at my house.”

“We get it. You have a baby.” Zachariah looks at Castiel with a _can you believe this guy_ expression.

Happy for the distraction, Cas gives Zachariah a blank look before turning to Inias. “Any progress on the new tooth?” He lets his mind drift as Inias delivers a full report of the current teething situation which apparently includes both middle of the night car rides and a diaper rash.

The rest of the morning isn’t much better. He spends a lot of time staring at his screen with his eyes unfocused. The thought of reporting the incident to Naomi continues to weigh on him. On the one hand, it’s the responsible thing to do. Transparency is vitally important in this work. But he’s already on thin ice with her and maybe this will give her the reason she’s looking for to keep him in this job. If she knows they’ve had even this innocuous bit of contact, she might decide to transfer Dean’s case to someone else in the division. He feels a surge of protectiveness at that thought. Not of Dean, of course, but at the idea of his hard work being placed in someone else’s hands. He’s been on the job for six weeks now and he’s intimately familiar with these cases. A picture of Dean slowly stroking himself enters his mind unbidden just as Gabe approaches his cubicle, causing Cas to startle and knock over his coffee cup.

Apparently this is what Cas does now.

Gabe watches as Cas swears and scrambles to right the cup. Grabbing tissues from the box on this desk, Cas attempts to mop up the spill. Gabe watches, wordlessly, as the tissues saturate and shred while Cas continues to wipe, creating more of a mess even as the puddle of coffee remains only slightly contained. Then he walks away to return holding out a handful of actual paper towels.

Cas mutters his thanks as he takes them and gets his desk in working order. Only then does he risk meeting Gabe’s eye. The usual mirth is gone, replaced by an unnerving intentness that can’t mean anything good.

“Walk with me,” Gabriel says.

With his heart in his throat, Cas gets to his feet. There’s no way Gabe can know he ran into Dean. Absolutely no way. Unless...there’s some way. Unless they have Cas under some sort of surveillance himself. Maybe Naomi has decided he’s so irredeemably bad at his job that he needs to be supervised at all times. And now it’s up to Gabe to let him in on the bad news. He’s so lost in his churning doom spiral that he doesn’t notice Gabe has stopped walking once they’ve reached the empty outer hallway, and he has to stumble to a stop lest he crash into him.

“What’s going on with you?” Gabe’s usually cheerful face is filled with concern, and Cas’s stomach lurches at being the cause of it. The urge to confess is strong. He hasn’t done anything wrong but it would still be good policy to admit it, get it out in the open, and prove that he has nothing to hide. He opens his mouth to respond, then hesitates long enough that Gabe reaches out a comforting hand. “I know being back in our department has been difficult for you, but we both know it’s only temporary. You’ve kept your head down and taken your lumps and Naomi can see that. You’ve just gotta keep plugging along for a while longer.”

This kindness is what erodes Cas’s resolve, and he finds himself sucking in a deep breath and telling Gabe something at least adjacent to the truth. “I’m gay.”

Gabe blinks a few times, processing. “O...kay,” he says slowly. “And?”

Strangely, Cas feels a weight lifting off of him. “I didn’t know how to tell people.”

“Did you just now realize it? Like, this morning?” Gabe still has that look in his eye like he doesn’t want to scare Cas off.

“I’ve known for quite some time.”

“But now you’re ready to let people know.”

“Yes.”

“Ok, well, I’d say you did pretty well telling me.” Gabe stares at him for one long moment. “Can I ask why now? Are you seeing someone?”

Cas conjures up an image of Dean leaning against his big black car. He shakes his head. “No. Not even close. I just wanted to be...truthful.”

“Did you want to tell the rest of the group? Is this like, a bring in cupcakes and make an announcement sort of thing?”

Cas considers that; cupcakes do make a work day more pleasant. He shakes his head. “I think telling you is enough for now.”

“You know it wouldn’t affect anything here, right? It’s nobody’s business but your own and even if people did find out, it’s not going to affect your job.”

Cas nods slowly, not quite believing it, but wanting to nonetheless. “Thank you, Gabriel. I appreciate your friendship.”

“Ok, man. Ok. Glad you felt comfortable talking to me. Now let’s get back to work before Naomi asks to see our hall passes.”

For the rest of the day, Cas feels better and he’s both more focused and productive. The guilty buzzing in his brain has dissipated and he’s able to think clearly again. It’s enough to make him realize that keeping this secret was dragging him down in ways he hadn’t appreciated. Even though it had never come up before, this lie by omission had left him disconnected from the people around him. This confusion where Dean is concerned makes sense now. It isn’t about Dean in particular, it’s about the blurring of lines between his work and his sexuality. It could have been any case involving an attractive male. It just happened to be Dean Winchester who was a part of his day-to-day work life when he decided the time was right to come out. That’s all it is: his own internal struggle projected onto Dean. The relief of sorting through the tangle of emotions leaves him feeling centered and in control. He stops questioning himself and his professionalism, tucks away the concern he has for behavior bordering on inappropriate. Now that he’s been honest with Gabriel, these misguided feelings for Dean are bound to fade away.

*

Not only has John Winchester contacted his son, he’s made plans to come to town for a visit in a few weeks. Cas sees the excited texts Dean exchanges with Charlie as well as the less than enthusiastic responses from Sam. Over the course of two days Dean and his brother have an ongoing almost-argument where Dean implores Sam to clear his schedule so that they can all have dinner together the Friday night John is scheduled to arrive. Sam drags his feet, claiming he needs to study, then claiming he got invited out. When Dean presses him, Sam argues that their father wouldn’t bother to make the time for him if their situations were reversed, leaving Dean pleading with him to give John a chance.

 _How many chances do we owe him?_ Sam texts.

**Ok, fine. If you won’t do it for him, will you do it for me?**

Cas is watching the texts appear in real time and he finds himself holding his breath as Sam’s bubble turns to three dots for a very long time. Despite that, the only response that eventually appears is a single word.

_fine_

As the visit grows closer, Cas catches glimpses of Dean cleaning the apartment, complete with air guitar solos on his mop. He’s observed Dean in a variety of moods: happy, irritated, flirty...but this is a new one. He looks younger somehow, relaxed and excited as this reunion with his father approaches.

That Friday evening Cas stays late at work knowing that John is scheduled to arrive at six o’clock. Dean has his laptop set up in the kitchen as he cooks something that Cas can’t quite make out, but it involves a casserole dish going into the oven. By 6:45 Cas’s office has emptied out completely and Dean’s pan is cooling on the stove top. Minutes later, Sam leaves with his backpack slung over his shoulder. Cas watches as Dean checks his phone almost constantly, eventually calling and texting his father, but to no avail. At 7:15 Cas calls it a day and shuts down his computer.

Cas throws himself into his own weekend, assigning his time into leisure and chores as he always does, but not even the comfort of his routine can get him to shake the unsettled feeling he left with on Friday night. He remembers Dean’s face looming large in front of the webcam as he turned off his music, all the earlier lightness replaced with a mask of tension. Cas has dug up as much as he could on John Winchester. He’s seen evidence of the drinking and the inability to hold a job. John has clearly been an inadequate father in many measurable ways, but none of it prepared him for the burn of irritation that Cas felt at watching him let Dean down. He feels oddly protective of Dean who has done so much for his brother over the years, holding the family together when John would or could not. A stubborn flame of outrage at a father treating a son with such disregard lingers well into Sunday. Castiel’s father had not been a warm man, but he had been reliable and present for the moments that counted. He had held his children to high expectations and Castiel had him to thank for his work ethic and the goals he had attained.

Anxious to know how things with John transpired, he considers going back into work on Sunday afternoon, but after the awkwardness in meeting up with Naomi last time, he decides it isn’t worth the risk. He’ll go for a run, he decides. He’ll follow his regular route that takes him through the park and if he happens to time it when he knows that Dean has made plans to be there LARPing, that’s merely a coincidence.

Winter is edging toward spring, the days lengthening as the temperatures warm. He runs in the mid-afternoon sunshine, breathing in the fresh air as his feet beat a steady rhythm on the pavement. He winds through the park, passing women pushing strollers and kids on scooters and tricycles. The LARPers are easy to see, filling in the wide open field with their colorful costumes and banners. A number of canopies are set up along the perimeter, each one apparently corresponding to a different class or faction. From the path that overlooks the field, Cas stops under the guise of drinking from a water fountain and takes some time to observe the proceedings. It appears to be a mock battle with both sides lined up on opposite ends of the field. Charlie is easy to pick out and, if her flaming red hair weren’t noticeable enough, her regal gown certainly is. Using her as a reference point, Cas scans the people around her until he locates Dean who, he realizes, is wearing the same outfit he saw in those Facebook pictures. Cas is too far away to be able to pick up his expression, but he watches from this safe distance pleased to see that he seems to be participating fully and enthusiastically in this recreation. Satisfied, he puts his headphones back in and continues his run along the path which will skirt the field as it takes him toward the park’s exit.

The park is crowded and busy as people make the most of a beautiful Sunday. As he nears the field, he keeps his focus forward, not letting himself even glance at the battle preparations. Plenty of other people are, though, and he jogs past the spectators, dodging some teenagers tossing a frisbee and a dad blowing bubbles for his toddler to pop.

He’s nearly past the field when something solid and hard hits him in the back of the head. Stunned, he stops running, yanking out his headphones and reaching both hands to the point of impact. As he does, a kid runs over to retrieve his wayward frisbee.

“Sorry, mister.”

Cas is still rubbing the sore spot when he sees someone in his peripheral vision. “James? You ok?”

Shit. “Yes, I’m fine.” Maybe he can pretend not to remember Dean.

A little sheepishly, Dean looks down at his outfit. “I guess I look a bit different than I did at the laundromat.”

So much for that idea. Cas looks down at his running clothes. “As do I.”

Dean gestures to his ears. “I yelled a heads-up at you but I guess you couldn’t hear me. So, what are you up to?” Before Cas can respond, Dean blushes. “Stupid question.”

“It appears I should be the one asking you that.”

“Right. Yes. Um.” Dean smooths the crest that adorns his tunic. “It probably seems a little weird, but it’s fun and—” a shout has Dean yelling “I’m coming!” over his shoulder before turning back to Cas. “I’ve got to get back but you’re welcome to hang around and watch if you like. We’re in the last phase of battle and then I’ll be done.”

“I’m sorry, I can’t stay.” He ignores the way Dean’s face falls at that and focuses instead on congratulating himself for extracting himself from the situation in a timely manner. “Enjoy.”

Dean walks backwards a few steps, his eyes still on Cas. “See ya!”

Cas pretends to fumble with replacing his earbuds for an extra moment as he watches Dean retreat. Instead of leaving from the closest exit, he continues his lap around the field and heads out in the direction he came, hoping to disguise the direction leading back to his apartment. It‘ll lengthen his run by an extra three-quarters of a mile, but it’s worth it to be sure he’s out of Dean’s sight.

As he runs, he considers what he knows. Dean seemed happy and at ease to be there with his friends at the park. If Cas’s knowledge of body language is any indication, whatever happened with his father must not have had any lingering effects. There was no tightness to the set of his shoulders, no crease to his brow. His looked well-rested, no dark circles under his eyes to indicate a sleepless weekend. Cas hopes this means that there has been a happy family reunion. Perhaps John’s delayed arrival was purely accidental. Cas knows Dean likes to cook. Maybe in place of Friday night’s disappointment, there’d been a family breakfast this morning with pancakes and bacon.

The only bit of concern Cas had witnessed on Dean’s face had been in determining if he was all right. He’d come running as soon as the frisbee had found its mark, leaving his game to check and see if Cas was hurt. He’d even tried to give Cas a warning beforehand. Slowing his run to a cool-down pace, Cas wonders if Dean would have been as attentive to anyone who found themself in the frisbee’s path. Probably. He seems to be that sort of person. The kind who will go out of his way to make sure that the people around him are happy and well-cared for. Cas could’ve been anybody, he reasons. Everything about Dean’s profile thus far indicates that he is a caretaker, someone who puts himself last and never seems resentful of doing so. It’s exactly that sort of selfless and trusting behavior that could get him into trouble if other, unscrupulous people managed to insinuate themselves into his life. The fact that Dean is associated with more than one person on their watchlist certainly speaks to this type of vulnerability. Frowning, Cas thinks again of John Winchester. Perhaps some more digging into his past would help. Most of what Cas has found points to a troubled man, one who learned early to drown himself in the bottle. A poor provider, yes, but also a grieving widower, one taxed with two small children at the most difficult time of his life.

Whatever he’s done or not done, his boys have turned out alright. Sam, in particular, has shown promise as he advances through his studies. Dean has stepped up in a way not every child with a fractured family might, Cas thinks with an unexpected glimmer of pride. He’s come out on the other side as a successful adult with a steady, solid life. A career, a home, friends. It does make Cas wonder why he hasn’t found any sort of a long-term partner, but he himself knows how fulfilling life can be without one.

A block or so from home, he slows to a walk. Dean had asked him to stick around. He’d told Cas he’d be done soon. While Cas had been so pleased at having this interaction be nothing more than a quick hello, he’d neglected to process that fact that Dean had asked him to stay and watch, with the implication being that he’d be happy to have Cas there. That he’d enjoy coming back to talk to him afterwards. Cas would have been mortified to run into someone he knew while dressed that way, but Dean had laughed it off in that easy way of his. He’d been a little self-conscious, maybe, but it no way ashamed of what he was doing. It fascinated Cas to see such different sides of this man. And the fact that he found Cas someone worth talking to made it even more curious.

Cas is the one who sits quietly on the sidelines, the one who saves the table while others hit the dance floor. Maybe in the past he’s been coveted as a group project partner or as a designated driver, but in general people don’t seek out his company. He’d learned early on in the chaos of his large family to keep his head down and fly under the radar, perfecting the art of blending in to minimize the amount of attention drawn his way. He enjoys that. He enjoys the freedom of answering to no one but himself. But now Dean keeps striking up conversations with him in a way that’s difficult to dismiss. It’s hard to write today’s interaction off as a polite coincidence when Dean literally ran out of his way over to Cas.

Well. He ran over to James.

Unlocking his apartment door, Cas takes one more deep breath of spring-fresh air. Whatever Dean thinks he likes, he likes about James. James who works for a nursery, digging holes and coaxing plants towards the sun. James who could barely string two words together at the laundromat, flustered and blushing as Cas let himself get trapped in a literal corner by someone he never should have encountered. No matter how pleasant Dean might think their interactions are, Cas knows they’re nothing but a glaring example of his own unprofessionalism. If Dean knew the real Castiel, if he knew the way he’d been deceived…

The warmth in his muscles from the run takes a back seat to the chilled feeling that settles over Cas as he imagines the look in Dean’s green eyes if he were to discover how Cas has misled him in every aspect of their acquaintance. Today, he’d kept Cas in sight as long as he could, smiling and waving. How fast would he turn away if he knew the truth?

Alone in his apartment, Cas strips out of his sweaty running clothes and carefully drops them into his hamper. He stands for a long time in the shower washing away the sweat and the memory of the afternoon. He stares at the off-white faux marble tile of the shower wall, using one finger to trace the “grain”. Only when the water runs cold does he rouse himself from his thoughts and, shivering, step back out.


	5. Chapter 5

When he gets to work on Monday, Cas discovers that John’s absence has been explained by his car breaking down in an area with no cell phone coverage. The visit has been rescheduled for the following weekend. He also finds the following texts between Dean and Charlie:

_So what’s your plan_

**For what**

_To locate Mr. Dreamy_

**Can you please stop calling him that**

_Are you saying he’s not?_

**Am I a 7th grade girl?**

_Maybe?_

**-_-**

_Ok. so the laundromat and the park. He’s got to live nearby. Maybe I could develop a program to triangulate his likely location based on that._

**Can you stop being a nerd for five seconds? How do normal people find each other?**

_Grindr._

**-____-** **Besides i don’t think he’s into me.**

_Based on?_

**Based on the fact that i looked like an idiot when i saw him and he literally RAN in the other direction.**

_He was on A RUN. That’s what people who are running do. Hey, I have an idea._

**Hit me.**

_Try googling “Hot guys named James near me”_

Cas feels a flush spreading across his face. This is not how it’s supposed to work. He in no way expected to find himself the subject of the conversations he’s tasked with monitoring. There’s no way for this to be traced back to him, he reminds himself, it’s a common name that isn’t even his. There’s nothing to set off any alarm bells other than the ones clanging inside his own head. He’s got to be smarter, more careful.

But “dreamy”? “Hot”? He’s never known anyone to describe him using words like those. When he was younger, he spent a lot of time looking in the mirror, trying to see himself as other people must. He approved of his eyes, but the rest of his face seemed always out of sync. Too many angles. Too many sharp lines. He practiced smiling, tried to master looking friendly and approachable but it felt false, and it manifested like a mask, more grimace than sincere invitation. Once he realized he was never going to be one of the popular guys in school, he stopped worrying about it and worked on being the smartest instead. That accomplishment brought him a modicum of respect as well as some mild disdain, but for the most part people left him alone, and that was fine with him. But now, to be classified as attractive by someone who apparently viewed him as a potential romantic partner? By someone whose opinion he’d somehow grown to value? This was unprecedented.

His train of thought is stopped by a single, sharp sound from across the room. He looks over to see Hannah has slapped her hand to her forehead.

“You stupid fucking idiot,” she mutters, eyes glued to her screen.

Gabe gets to his feet, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Whatta we got?”

“He just…” Hannah sighs and gestures vaguely. “How many times is he going to do this?”

Gabe’s shoulders drop. “Again?”

“He gets drunk, goes through her pictures, and like clockwork he shows up at her door. They fight, she slams the door in his face, he cries. Lather, rinse, repeat.”

“Maybe this time it’ll work?”

“Maybe this time she’ll finally call the cops,” Hannah responds darkly.

“Maybe.” Gabe sounds unconvinced. “But you know the drill. If she isn’t willing to, it’s not our job to intervene.”

Hannah sighs. “I know.”

“Even though he’s driving drunk?” Inias asks. “Clearly he’s breaking the law and potentially endangering others.”

This is a limitation of their role that they’ve all had to face, one that never gets any easier. Cas knows Inias was given this information during his training, but it’s one thing to hear the policy in abstraction, and quite another to watch it play out in real time.

“We’re here to observe and report,” Gabe reminds him. “Unless they’re taking action directly related to the case against them, we sit back and watch. People do dumb shit all day long and it’s not our job to fix it. Especially when getting them arrested for something smaller may compromise the larger issue at hand. We’re assigned these cases based on specific concerns and that has to stay our focus. If they do something illegal but unrelated and we only know about it through our surveillance, it can’t count as public knowledge and we can’t act on it.”

Cas knows there are ways to get around this. They all do. No one is going to sit back and shrug while a child is placed in a dangerous situation or a dog is left to starve. There are back channels to go through with police as well as anonymous tips to be left with landlords and social services. But sometimes this job means watching people make the same dumb mistakes over and over again. (Cas remembers the woman who continually ingested foods to which she knew she was moderately allergic, forcing him to read her complaints to all her friends regarding the ensuing symptoms.) It’s frustrating but ultimately it isn’t their problem.

Hannah sighs. “Well, if he comes home and cries to a Disney movie, that’ll at least help my bingo card.”

*

As far as Cas can tell, the visit with John Winchester seems to be proceeding nicely. From the texts Dean sends to Charlie, even Sam seems to be warming up to their father’s presence. John is staying with some friends in town, but the three of them have enjoyed some meals together as a family. In fact, Dean is so excited that he actually calls Charlie on the phone.

“What’s wrong? Who’s dead?”

Dean laughs, a warm, rich sound that has Cas smiling. “Nobody. I just had too much to tell you and I didn’t want to type it all out.”

“Ew. I didn’t get a phone to use as an actual _phone_.”

“None of us did and yet here we are.”

“Ok, spill. Tell me everything.”

“I mean, it’s not perfect, but it’s been good. I showed him around my work and he got to meet everybody at the garage. We all had breakfast together this morning and he and Sam were both on their best behavior.”

“That’s great. He leaves tomorrow?”

“Yeah but he’s already talking about coming back over the summer for a bit.”

Charlie’s voice is genuinely pleased. “I’m really happy for you guys. I know how big this was for you.”

“Thanks. I don’t blame Sam for being pissed still, but dad’s trying. He’s trying really hard and I think it’s important that we meet him halfway, you know?”

“I get that. Look, Sam told me a lot of stories when we were in the dorm about what it was like for you guys growing up. It’s going to take him some time to come around. There’s a lot of trust to be rebuilt.”

“Yeah,” Dean agrees. There’s a long silence before he continues, saying softly, “I just want us to be a family again.”

“It sounds like you’re getting there.”

“It definitely feels like a big step in the right direction. Ok, I’m at the grocery store now so I’ll let you go. We’re gonna have dinner tonight before he leaves in the morning.”

Cas remembers the first time he laughed out loud at a joke made by one of the people he was monitoring. That was the moment that he’d truly realized that there was no possible way to keep things completely separate in this job. There were always going to be people you liked more than others, people you found yourself unconsciously—or even consciously—rooting for. But that was part of the training they all received. Knowing and understanding this human bias was key to maintaining the fair and level-headed mindset needed to filter through all of the input while staying professional. So Cas knows that as long as he recognizes and accounts for this inclination, it’s fine to be pleased on Dean’s behalf. It’s hard for Cas to comprehend how quickly Dean is willing to forgive John after the lengthy period of neglect, but this isn’t about him. Dean seems to have an open and forgiving heart, an endless capacity for second chances. Cas has always been so content with the predictability in his routine and the way he carefully curates his own experiences, but seeing how happy Dean is gives Cas pause. Perhaps there’s something to be said for opening up to chances, for taking those risks and seeing where they lead.

*

Cas is watching a few hours later when it all goes bad.

From what he can gather, the afternoon has gone as planned. Dean did his grocery shopping and came home prepared to cook dinner. He texts Sam to tell him that John is coming over earlier than planned, giving his brother a heads up that their dad will be there when he gets home from class.

 _Why?_ comes Sam’s terse reply.

By now Cas can almost picture the set of Dean’s jaw as he responds. **He wants to hang out with us.**

_K_

There are no other interactions between them so it seems that all is well. As the day winds down, Cas checks up on his other cases. He’s ready to call it a day but he switches over one last time to the feed from Dean’s laptop camera before he does. Dean is there in his bedroom and he’s pulling his t-shirt off over his head just as Cas looks in. Cas furtively glances around the office, but only Zachariah is still there and he’s paying Cas no mind. There’s not a lot to see as Dean moves about his room, drifting in and out of camera range, but he’s whistling which tells Cas that he’s in a good mood. A moment later he’s treated to a show of Dean’s bare ass as he walks through the door that must lead to the bathroom. A moment later, as Cas is still reflecting on the way Dean’s broad shoulders taper down to his surprisingly narrow waist, he hears the shower turn on. A shower before dinner. Nothing too unusual there. The sound of rushing water is almost like radio static as it filters through the laptop, a white noise that leaves Cas lost in thought. Will he get a glimpse of Dean coming back into his bedroom afterwards? Will he be glistening wet, with only a towel wrapped around his waist? Or thrown over his shoulder? He’s blinking himself back to reason, ready to power down his computer and take himself out of the equation when a bit of movement catches his eye.

While the water is still running, Cas sees the bedroom door being ever so slowly opened. John stands in the doorway, his hand on the knob as he searches the empty room. After a moment he moves quickly but stealthily into Dean’s room, until he’s just inside the doorway. He does not, Cas notes, announce his presence in any way. He stands there, gaze darting to the closed bathroom door, before crossing to the desk where Dean’s laptop sits. There’s a similarity in how father and son move, both of them solid but graceful. This close to the camera, John’s face is distorted as he leans in but Cas can see a resemblance. John’s face seems hardened, the angles cut more sharply, the mouth turned down into a frown.

There’s a loud jangle of metal as John picks up the ring of keys from Dean’s desk, loud enough that he clutches them in his fist to muffle the sound. With a look over his shoulder toward the bathroom, John carefully works one key off of the ring. Dean’s belting out the chorus of the song Cas now knows is Ramble On, blissfully ignorant of this happening just feet away. John pockets the single key and sets the ring back on the desk.

“You son of a bitch,” Cas says out loud.

John takes a few steps toward the door, then stops. He stands there for a moment, perhaps wrestling with his conscience before turning back toward the desk.

“Do the right thing,” Cas mutters. “Put it back.”

John appears again right in front of the camera. This time he picks up Dean’s wallet and takes all of the cash in it before leaving the room for good.

Cas sits rigidly at his desk, his jaw aching from where he’s gritting his teeth. His first instinct is to react, to stop this unfair action from playing out. He wants to warn Dean, let him know what’s going on, give him the information he needs. Instead, he sits helplessly, his mind racing. There’s nothing he can do. He’s known from the start that the car legally belongs to John. Dean has no recourse in this matter, and Cas has even less. The sound of Dean singing starts up again. He’s so happy right now, so cheerful and enthusiastic. So pleased at how well the visit with his father has gone. In a few short minutes, he’s going to have that bubble popped in the most disheartening of ways. He’s going to realize how fully his father played him and it’s going to be a hundred times worse than if he’d never showed up in the first place.

Dean’s opened himself up, genuinely and actively seeking reconciliation, and this is the thanks he gets. Cas finds himself furious on Dean’s behalf, at the way the world keeps taking advantage of Dean’s kindness, turning it against him. So far Cas has unearthed nothing to implicate him of anything other than being a good friend to people who happen to be on their watchlist. He’s done nothing to aid or abet any crime. He’s done nothing the least bit suspicious. Time and again Cas sees terrible people getting away with premeditated, hateful actions. It’s aggravating to watch them skip through life leaving pain and destruction in their wake, but those are the people he’s tasked with stopping. The satisfaction of his work comes from finding the evidence that will put these people away, getting them off the streets. It is infinitely more frustrating, Cas now knows, to watch an innocent person caught in the crosshairs. He can barely fathom how hurt Dean will be over this. The impotence Cas feels roils sickeningly in his stomach, a far cry from the heat of righteousness that spurs him to catch the “bad guy”. John Winchester is not his charge. John Winchester is not on their watchlist, nor has he found anything resembling a reason for him to be. John Winchester is a shitty father but there are no laws against that, especially not when his children are both legal adults.

When the water shuts off, Cas closes out the window. With everything else that’s happened, Dean deserves his privacy.  

*

By the time he gets back to work on Monday, Dean has gone through a whole range of emotions. There’s anger and outrage, sadness and disbelief. There’s a single, profanity-laden voicemail left on John’s phone that cuts off abruptly when Dean’s voice breaks. Charlie is the recipient of most of it, and she listens patiently, commiserating faithfully. There’s very little Cas can find between Sam and Dean for much of the week, and what he is privy to is terse, with none of it addressing their father. He imagines much of that discussion was done in person, and he hopes that Sam has been kind enough not to throw an _I told you so_ in Dean’s face, but having grown up with brothers himself, Cas knows it’s a tall order.

Dean’s time online this week seems scattered and unfocused. He starts a couple of movies, then shuts them off less than an hour in. He scrolls through social media without interacting with any of it. He downloads a mindless puzzle game onto his phone, then doesn’t play it. There’s no porn.

Without those hours of Dean sitting in front of his computer in the evenings, it’s hard for Cas to get a read on his mood. Maybe he’s spending time with Charlie in person, letting his friend help get him through this rough patch. Maybe he’s distracting himself in healthy ways.

A text to Charlie that Friday afternoon dispels Cas of any illusions.

**I’m going to the Roadhouse tomorrow to drink until I forget this shit even happened.**

_I get that. I do. But are you sure that’s the best idea?_

**It’s the best fucking idea I’ve got**

_I wish I could come with you_

**Nah you’ve had these plans forever. I’m not going to be good company anyhow.**

_Ok but promise me you won’t do anything stupid._

_And text me when you get home safe._

**Charlie**

**Please**

**It’s not like I can drink and drive**

_Sorry_

The Roadhouse. Ash’s place of employment. Cas checks all of the other information available to him but there’s nothing to indicate that Dean has been in touch with his old friend. Still, this is a solid connection between the two of them and exactly what Cas is supposed to be monitoring for. These are great big pieces of a puzzle potentially coming together, and Cas toys with reporting it to Gabe. Even though there’s nothing of significance yet, it could be enough to nudge all of them to a higher level of surveillance. Perhaps even to turn the case over to someone in Cas’s previous department, somebody who could go out in the field and procure information first-hand instead of weeding through a seemingly endless supply of text logs, phone records, and video capture. Cas knows exactly what they would do, because he used to do it.

Given Dean’s current mental state, though, he worries that his actions might appear more threatening than they really are. Cas knows from his file that Dean’s got a history of bar scuffles and, if his stated goal of drinking himself into oblivion is accurate, there’s potential for a perfect storm that could lead him right to jail. Whatever Dean might do this weekend will stem from a place of anger and sorrow at the situation with his father, and that’s a lens through which his actions must be viewed. Cas doesn’t trust that anyone who might take over this case will understand that, at least not without some time watching Dean and getting to know him the way Cas has.

It just makes sense for Cas to stake out the Roadhouse while Dean plans to be there. If he finds out anything the least bit suspicious, he’ll pass that along to the higher ups. In the meantime, if, as Cas suspects, Dean just needs to blow off some steam, then Cas can make sure things don’t get too out of hand.


	6. Chapter 6

He’s done his research on the Roadhouse, familiarizing himself with the location and history.  He knows it’s run by one Ellen Harvelle, the sole proprietor since her husband died a few years back. Although it’s only a few miles from his neighborhood, Cas has never been there, but that’s not so surprising. He’s never been the bar type, and most of his bar visits have been appearances put in for work-related obligations, like a birthday or retirement. He’s mastered the art of showing up, sitting and feigning interest in conversation while nursing a single drink, then slipping out at the earliest opportunity.

But this is work, he reminds himself Saturday evening, standing in front of his closet to choose a shirt. He slides the hangers along the rodl, appraising then dismissing each one. The easiest way to go unnoticed is to blend in, but that’s going to be tricky since the majority of his wardrobe consists of button down shirts. He turns from the closet to investigate the contents of his dresser instead, flipping through until he finds a dark blue long sleeved t-shirt. He puts it on with his oldest jeans and checks himself in the mirror. The shirt is a tighter fit than he usually wears and it clings to him in an unnerving manner. It seems like something Dean might wear, though, so he must be on the right track. Thinking of the way Dean layers one shirt over the other, he goes to retrieve a button down shirt from his closet, pulling it on over the t-shirt. He grimaces at his reflection. The button down is a crisp white and he looks even more ridiculous than he feels. Carefully, he replaces the shirt on the hanger. The t-shirt will have to do. He brushes his hair but no matter what he does, there are bits that refuse to be tamed. He tries wetting his fingers to smooth them down, but for every one he fixes another pops up. Sighing, he dries his hands on the towel, then runs a palm over the stubble darkening his jaw. Not shaving seems to be the one right decision he’s made. He leans forward, both hands on the cool tiled surface of the counter, and breathes deeply, trying to slow his thumping pulse. After a moment, he feels his calm control take over and he’s ready to go. Grabbing his wallet, keys, and phone, he heads down the stairs to the parking lot.

The Roadhouse is rather unassuming, dark save for the brightly lit name. There’s nothing inviting about it, nothing meant to lure customers in, which makes it perfect if you’re looking to do some serious drinking. Out of instinct, Cas finds himself scanning the parking lot for the Impala before he remembers it’s long gone, taken by John to wherever he’s fled with it. From what Dean’s said to Charlie, it doesn’t sound like he’s acquired a new vehicle so Cas isn’t sure how he planned to get here. He’d told Charlie he couldn’t drink and drive so maybe he’s taken a taxi? For the first time, Cas wonders if maybe Dean has gotten a ride with a friend. Maybe he’s going to distract himself with the company of others to take his mind off things. Maybe Dean’s got a date tonight or is planning on hooking up, as they say. It would make sense. He’s a social person, attractive and outgoing, and people seem to flock to him easily.

 _Like you?_ his brain helpfully supplies.

Pulling into the far corner of the lot, Cas scowls at his brain instead of dignifying it with a response. He recognizes Ash’s car parked nearby so that’s one question answered. From his vantage point, he has a decent view of the front door, so he sits in the gathering darkness watching people enter and leave singly or in pairs or small groups. It’s a rougher looking crowd, Cas thinks. More jeans and leather jackets than suits and ties. There are even a couple of large, shiny motorcycles parked in the lot to complete the look. He sits there long enough to decide that, unless his plans have changed, Dean must already be inside. It’s time to go in and take a look.

He stands next to his car fussing with the sleeves of his shirt for a long moment before leaving them pushed up. The place looks both big enough and crowded enough that he should be able to keep himself from being detected. All he needs to do is get inside then scope out a location where he can watch without drawing attention to himself. Slip in, walk quickly but not too quickly off into the corner, blend into the crowd, and reassess from there. As he pulls open the front door, a wave of loud rock and roll music crashes over him. Despite the auditory assault he keeps moving forward, but he’s only two steps inside when he finds his path completely blocked. A small but frighteningly intense woman is standing just inside the door with her arms crossed over her chest. Cas recognizes her right away as Ellen Harvelle. He doesn’t use the word “glower” often, but it seems the best way to describe the look on her face. Cas is immediately glad it isn’t directed at him but rather at the exceedingly drunk man standing in front of her.

“Hand them over,” Ellen says in a voice that tells Cas this is not the first time she’s made the request.

“Aw, Ellen. Just leave me be.” The man staggers a little as waving an arm in her direction is enough to throw off his precarious balance.  

“It’s too early in the evening for this nonsense,” Ellen says. “A cab is on its way. Give me your car keys.”

“How’m I gonna get in my house?”

“Car keys,” Ellen repeats, enunciating each word clearly. “You can keep the rest.”

Cas would like nothing more than to move past this unfolding incident but his path is literally blocked. For one, he’s not sure the man would remain upright if Cas were to wedge past him and besides that, he’s pretty damn sure Ellen would have a thing or two to say to him if he tried. So he stays where he is, doing his best to be unobtrusive.

Sighing heavily, the man digs into his pocket before yanking out a ring of keys. The motion causes him to tip in Cas’s direction, and he instinctively reaches out to steady him. The drunk holds the keys close to his face, rifling through them as he tries to ascertain which one is which. When he finally finds the car key, he holds it up triumphantly then tries to give the entire ring to Ellen. As Cas watches, she closes her eyes for a one exasperated moment, then reaches for the keys. She's working the car key off the ring herself when the man bursts into tears.

“I’m sorry, Ellen. It’s just so lonely at home now. I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble.” He starts to pitch toward her and she catches him in a hug.

“You mind?” she says to Cas, holding out the keys while she pats the man with the other hand.

“Of course not.” Cas is in the midst of working the car key from the ring when he hears a familiar voice.

“Everything under control here, Ellen?”

Ellen rolls her eyes while continuing to pat the sobbing man. “Dean Winchester, how do you think I manage to run this place on the nights you aren’t here?”

Dean gives her a half smile and shrugs, before turning to Cas. “Here, I can take—James?”

“Uh. Hi.” A+ work, Agent. Couldn’t even get in the door undetected.

“What are you doing here?”

“Long week?” Cas tries just as Ellen says, “Cab’s here.”

There’s a flurry of activity as Cas passes the key to Ellen who untangles herself from the drunk man. “Can you walk him out?” she asks Dean.

“Sure.” He flings an arm around the man, who turns and snuffles into his shoulder.

“Oh. Here.” Cas hands over the rest of the keys and Dean smiles at him.

“Don’t move. I’ll buy you a drink.”

Anything else would arouse more suspicion, so Cas doesn’t move. He stays hovering near the doorway waiting for Dean to return. He’s not sure what he should be doing as he waits. Looking bored? Looking interested? He finally decides on looking at his phone. Taking it out of his pocket, he pretends to be studying something on his screen until the door opens to reveal Dean.

“Done my good deed for the day,” he says, and claps Cas on the shoulder.

“You keep it to one per day?”

“Yeah, it’s a strict policy. No more, no less. Now it’s drinking time. Follow me.”

Cas follows as he threads a path through the crowd, past a couple of pool tables and dart boards where people are gathered in clumps. It’s a noisy crowd, the constant music and conversation frequently punctuated with loud yells or bursts of raucous laughter. It’s a crowd that seems familiar with this space, one that feels comfortable letting loose here. Cas spies Ellen back behind the bar, having resumed her tasks after making sure her drunk patron got home safely, and he realizes she must devote much of her time and energy to making sure the people here are more than just customers.

Cas wonders if Dean is leading him to join a group of friends or coworkers. He can imagine Dean aiming darts at a board with stunning precision, finding the target with a quick jerk of arm and shoulder as an admiring crowd applauds. But Dean keeps walking to the corner of the bar where an empty shot glass sits in front of a single empty stool. He motions for Cas to sit but Cas shakes his head and Dean settles himself on the stool.

“What are you drinking?”

Cas looks along the bar, scanning the beer taps and the rows of bottles lining the wall. He’s never really liked the taste of beer. He sometimes enjoys a glass of red wine and on a few occasions he’s even bought himself a bottle, but each time the wine sours before he’s able to finish it. He’s pretty sure this isn’t a wine sort of place anyhow. “Uh. What do you suggest?”

Dean’s smile slips effortlessly into a smirk. “That depends on your goals for the evening.”

This feels like a trick question. Instead of answering, Cas simply says, “Oh?”

Nodding, Dean indicates the shot glass. “My goal is to get fucked up, so it’s a whiskey kind of night.”

Cas finds himself a little distracted watching Dean run the pad of his finger along the rim of the glass but finally he remembers his cover story. “My goal was to meet a friend from work but,” he holds up the phone still in his hand, “apparently they aren’t able to make it after all.”

“Well, one gentleman never lets another one drink alone.”

The next thing Cas knows, there are two full shot glasses on the bar. Dean hands him one and their fingers overlap as Cas tries to take the small glass out of his large hand. Dean taps his glass against Cas’s. “Here’s to reaching your goals.” Dean tosses his shot back effortlessly, throat bobbing as he swallows. He’s wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before Cas has even lifted the glass to his lips. The whiskey is so strong that even having it this close to his eyes makes them sting. Dean’s watching him, so Cas does his best to emulate him, tipping it all into his mouth and _dear god everything burns_. He chokes and sputters and does his best not to cough it right onto Dean’s increasingly amused face. Wincing, he finally swallows the mouthful, then coughs heartily.

Dean’s full-on laughing now, and Cas should feel embarrassed. His eyes are watering and he swallows around the unpleasant sensation that he last experienced when he was a child and got chlorinated pool water up his nose. But Dean starts patting him on the back as he continues to sputter, and Cas feels stupidly better from the small and completely useless gesture. Grinning, Dean wipes his own eyes. “Jesus, I didn’t think I was ever going to laugh that hard again in my whole entire life.”

At this, Cas swallows hard, regaining his composure. “That sounds dire.”

Dean glances away and there’s a hard set to his jaw. It’s there only for a moment, but Cas registers it. When he looks back at Cas, he smiles again but his eyes have lost their liveliness. Cas curses himself for putting that look on his face, for meddling when he should be observing. “It’s why God invented alcohol,” Dean finally says and signals again to the bartender. “Ready for another?”

Cas is a trained operative. He knows well how to get himself in and out of situations. How to be neutral and unobtrusive. How to think of the big picture at all times. When Dean asks him that, Cas sees a hint of pleading in those green eyes, a silent request to return to the lighthearted merriment of just a few moments ago. To before Cas made him think about his father betraying him so he could literally burn rubber on the way out of Dean’s life.

“Let’s see if I can redeem myself with this one,” Cas hears himself saying. By the time his glass is quickly refilled, his throat is still burning from the first shot.

Dean turns to face him. “Ok, the trick is to relax your throat. Don’t try to swallow it bit by bit, just get it all in there.” He stops and presses his lips together like he’s replaying what he just said, and there’s just enough light for Cas to see that he’s gone a little pink. Cas would like to laugh, to break the tension in some way, but it seems there’s an unexpected flutter in his stomach which is probably due to the whiskey. Raising his glass, Dean recovers and says “Here’s to cancelled plans.”

Cas raises his own glass in salute and makes a concerted effort to relax as he tosses this one back. He can’t help but grimace as it leaves a burning trail but he manages not to cough once.

Dean winks at him. “I knew you had it in you, James.”

Cas smiles back, warmed both by the praise and the alcohol beginning to make its way into his bloodstream. He knows his own tolerance and sets the glass down on the bar, sliding it out of reach. “That’s it for me, though. I have to drive.”

“Well, there’s the one bonus I seem to have,” Dean says wryly, but he moves his glass away as well. Cas decides to play dumb and lets the remark go unquestioned. A second stool has opened up and now they sit side by side, Dean resting his chin in his hand. “What do you suppose it means that we keep running into each other? What’s the universe trying to tell us?”

Cas knows the answer to this one and it doesn’t have a goddamn thing to do with the universe. The only factor here is Castiel and his whole new chapter of bad decisions. He can almost hear Naomi’s voice accusing him of getting too close to the people in his charge. He’d denied it, but now, with the alcohol dimming his justifications, he finds himself thinking that perhaps she was right after all. Realizing he’s here again, crossing lines he should be walling off with barbed wire, crumples some of the defensiveness he’s been harboring since his demotion. It cuts through all of the rationalization he’s engaged in, all of the mental gymnastics he’s used to convince himself that what he’s done with regard to one Dean Winchester is both appropriate and defensible.

It’s a realization that leaves him deep in his own head until Dean touches him on the shoulder and he returns, blinking, into the present. With Dean staring at him so intently, it turns out he doesn’t fucking care to spend one more moment thinking about Naomi or any of this.

“That is an excellent question,” he says even though he knows damn well it isn’t an answer.

“You play pool?”

“Even more poorly than I do shots.”

Dean’s eyes light up. “Awesome. Let’s go.”

Cas isn’t stupid. He recognizes a game of pool for the mating ritual it is. Every move Dean makes is sensual. He bends over the table enticingly, feet spread and hips thrust back. He cups the heavy balls in his sure hands, glides the pool cue suggestively through his curled fingers. He helps Cas with his shot, a broad palm adjusting his hip or a hand placed over his to fine tune his aim. Each time Dean walks behind him, Cas finds himself holding his breath wondering if this is the time Dean is going to press close to help him line up a shot properly. He’s nearly twitchy anticipating the contact, imagining the solid warmth of him draped over his back with their hips flush, and his distraction leaves him scratching his shot, an awkward off-balance tap sending the cue ball into a side pocket.

If the look on Dean’s face is any indication, he’s more than enjoying his effect on Cas. Through the pleasant haze of whiskey, Cas knows things are getting a little out of hand, and he decides to give them both a breather. Straightening up from that missed shot, he leans his pool cue against the table. “Can you tell me where the restroom is?”

“I can do better than that,” Dean says, putting down his cue as well. He places his hand at Cas’s lower back to guide him past the bar and down a hallway to the clearly marked restrooms. The warm weight of Dean’s hand has Cas literally chewing on his own tongue. He doesn’t care how stupid it looked, he should’ve layered himself up with shirts and even his trench coat if only to prevent against the searing heat of skin through a single cotton shirt. He thinks longingly of the bullet proof vests he once had at his disposal in his old position. The feel of Dean’s hand is even more intoxicating than the whiskey and, at this very moment, he’s glad he fucked up that old case with April. What seemed like the biggest mistake of his life has led him down this unexpected and twisting path to be standing in a dark, noisy bar with Dean Winchester touching him. Earlier-in-the-night-Castiel would be checking for a back door through which to escape, but right-now-Cas is congratulating himself on how clever he is.

As Cas starts to push open the men’s room door, Dean drops his hand and leans against the wall. It’s a casual pose, every part of him loose and unguarded. “I’ll be right here,” he promises.

With a closed door between them, Cas begins to think a little more clearly again. He forgoes the urinal and closes himself in a stall so he can gather his wits while he empties his bladder. He’s seen for himself that Dean is ok. He’s drinking, yes, but not in a worrisome way. He’s gotten all the information he came here for and now he needs to leave. He spends a long time washing his hands, letting the cool water soothe him as he makes a plan. He’ll pretend he got a text from his friend and use that as an excuse to bug out. It’s not a particularly clever ruse, but it should do the job. With that decided, he dries his hands and pulls his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and pulling up his texting screen. He holds it in one hand, pretending to be reading from it as he pulls open the bathroom door.

“So I—“ he begins, but he stops when Dean smoothly snatches the phone from his hand. Cas is so stunned he just stands there, his mouth hanging open. Dean is already tapping away on it and when Cas tries to reach for it, he twists his body away to continue what he’s doing. He smiles at Cas as he hits “send” with a flourish.

“Now you’ve got my number,” he says, looking very pleased with himself. “And I’ve got yours.”

Ok, this is bad. Very bad. Definitely not part of the plan. Cas was going to make his excuses and leave but now things are more tangled than ever and it’s so alarming that Cas can’t quite find any words. He holds his hand out for the phone and Dean starts to return it, but the moment Cas reaches for it, Dean pulls back. Cas steps closer and reaches for it again, but Dean’s turning this into a game of keep away. When he holds it over his head, Cas steps forward again, right into Dean’s personal space. Dean steps back too, moving until Cas has him effectively pinned against the wall. Cas may have two shots of whiskey in him but he doesn’t miss the fact that Dean looks more relaxed than ever. There’s no hint of any defensive posture even as Cas grasps Dean’s wrist in an attempt to reclaim his phone. Their faces are so close together that Cas is pretty sure his brain will catch fire if he thinks about it too hard, so he files that away for future reference. He knows there’s music blasting in the bar and people talking and laughing and having fun, but his world has slowed down to this bit of dark hallway and the man he’s currently pressed against. All he can hear is the thudding of his own pulse in his ears as he feels Dean’s breath, close enough that he can smell the liquor on it. Their eyes are locked until Dean’s gaze flickers away to look at his mouth. When he looks up again, Cas leans in. Their lips are nearly grazing when a door in the hallway creaks opens and Cas startles backwards.  

“Shoulda figured that was you, Winchester.” The voice is not unkind. Cas turns to see someone he recognizes well standing there: Ash.

Dean seems to have pulled himself together easily and goes to give Ash a one-armed hug/clap on on the shoulder. “How you doing, man?”

“Long time no see,” Ash says and Cas is gratified to know that he’s been right about the two of them having had no recent contact. “How’s it going?”

Dean huffs out a long breath and, as Cas watches, he lets the mask of bravado drop for a moment. “Dude, you would not fucking believe.” He glances at Cas. “But I’ll catch you up on that another time.”

Thus far Cas has been able to keep his identity to “James”. Feeling an impending awkward introduction brewing, he steps forward and holds out his hand. “I’m James.”

“Nice to meet you and, uh, sorry to interrupt.”

Awesome, Cas has now identified himself by sight to not one but two of the people he’s supposed to be observing from afar. His pulse has now been overrun by a pounding in his head. “Actually, I was just heading out.” He turns to Dean and holds out his hand for his phone. “I heard from my friends.”

“Oh,” Dean says, his eyebrows lifted in surprise and his mouth in a small, perfect o. He passes back the phone and Cas takes it without letting his hand linger. “Can I walk you out?”

Cas feels the weight of Ash’s stare. He needs to get the hell out of this bar. “Not necessary. Nice to meet you,” he directs at Ash. He wants to put a hand on Dean’s arm and let him know that this isn’t anything he’s done wrong, but there’s no way to do that. Instead he musters up a warm smile long enough to say “Nice to see you, Dean.” Then he turns on his heel and makes for the exit before he can fuck up his life any further.

He sits in the car with his head in his hands, trying to breathe slowly. When the music flares, indicating the door to the Roadhouse has opened, he whips his head up but it’s not Dean, just a couple making their way inside. When the door is safely closed again, he starts up his car and drives home nearly on autopilot. Inside his apartment he pulls off his traitorous shirt and balls it up before throwing it across his bedroom. Stripping down to his underwear, he climbs into bed and falls into a restless sleep.

*

In the morning he wakes with a headache and his gut tied in knots. The light hurts his eyes and he rolls onto his side, pulling the pillow over his head to try and get some more sleep, but he lies there with his mind replaying the night before. Mentally he forms a roadmap, a flowchart of every decision point that could have led to a different outcome. The minute he stepped in the door and saw the commotion with Ellen he should have walked right back outside. The minute Dean told him to wait, he should’ve found a back exit and disappeared. When Dean offered him that shot of whiskey, he should’ve politely but firmly refused, making sure he was able to keep a clear head. He cringes into the pillow remembering how he sputtered around that shot, embarrassing himself in front of Dean. Maybe that’s why he agreed to the second shot as well. So he could redeem himself. Which was even worse, come to think of it, because what Dean thought of him was in no way relevant. This was a one way operation: Cas observed, then reported what he saw. End of story.

It hadn’t been that late when he’d gotten home. He’d spent maybe two hours hanging out at the bar which meant he could blame much of what happened on the whiskey. The game of pool, wishing Dean would get closer to him. Whatever that nonsense had been in the hallway. Cas’s face heated remembering how his heart had beat like a jackrabbit when they were so close, replaying the way Dean had slowly licked his lips just before Ash had interrupted them, and Jesus Christ he’d managed to talk to Ash as well.

Cas reaches up with both hands to press the pillow more firmly down onto his face. Could he suffocate himself and put an end to all of this? With his face muffled, he lets out a long, anguished noise. How does this keep happening? How does he keep finding himself in these situations with Dean Winchester?

 _Because you keep making terrible choices_ , his brain answers.

He pulls the pillow off and takes in a lungful of fresh air. “That was a rhetorical question,” he says aloud, his voice rough with sleep and the residual burn of the whiskey.

_Two shots of whiskey and you’re down for the count._

Should he feel this lousy after just two shots of whiskey? He didn’t feel particularly drunk when he left the bar, but maybe he drove home while he was over the legal limit. Apparently now, instead of working to preserve justice, he was on a mission to break every law there was. Why stop with driving under the influence? Maybe the next time a barista took too long, Cas would just straight up murder him.

Throwing back the covers like they’ve personally offended him, Cas sits up and rubs at his forehead. He hadn’t even bothered brushing his teeth last night and his mouth is dry and foul. As he gets to his feet, he steps on the jeans that he’d left on the floor by the bed. His phone is still in his jeans pocket and oh dear God Dean has his phone number now. He kicks the jeans under the bed and goes to take a shower.

The steam and hot water seem to help and, as long as he keeps his mind studiously blank, he feels well enough afterwards to fix himself some coffee. He sits in his regular Sunday morning spot in the living room and sips while it’s still scalding hot. The caffeine helps his head but his stomach roils in protest and he sets the mug down wearily after just half a cup. He needs to make a plan. He needs to get himself back on track and figure out how to proceed from this point forward.

He needs to see what Dean did with his phone last night.

He gets up so quickly that his coffee cup rattles, sloshing over the rim. He stops and steadies himself, so that he can stride into his bedroom, ready to retrieve some information. Nothing more, nothing less. Gather the intelligence, use it to make a decision. Inside the door, he stops, his stomach churning. Like the phone is a snake coiled to strike, he edges closer to the bed, slowly crouching down to tug his jeans out from underneath. Breathing deeply through his nose, he retrieves the phone and unlocks it to read what’s there.

Hands shaking, he drops the phone onto the bed, making it to the bathroom just in time to vomit.

He kneels on the still-damp bath mat and lets his stomach empty itself in a series of violent retches. When it finally settles, he spits a few times then flushes the whole mess away. His face is beaded with cold sweat and getting up takes too much effort so he sits on the floor with his back against the cabinet, letting the handles dig into his back.

**Hello, Dean. This is the devastatingly handsome James.**

This is not a thing that happens, not to Castiel. He’d had a few short term things in college, sure, but people didn’t find him attractive. He’s been described as “quirky” which he knows is a euphemism for “weird”. He knows he isn’t good at the whole dating thing, the casual mingling and flirting. He may have mourned that once, but when he began to focus seriously on his career, his social life took a backseat. He had a goal, a plan to get there, and no need for the frivolous distraction of a relationship. It was an unpopular approach, but one that had worked for him. His mother used to urge him to socialize more, encouraging him to try some less serious pursuits and meet some people. He knew she meant well and wanted him to be happy, but he resented the fact that she seemed to discount some of his success because he was still alone.

Maybe people do find him attractive and he just doesn’t realize it. Maybe that’s a casualty of being too single-minded with regard to his career. Even if they do, nobody has ever pursued him to the point where he’s become aware of it. But Dean Winchester seems so happy to see him each and every time. He shows his interest in his body language, in his casual touches, and flirtatious words. Castiel could have written all of that off, could have compartmentalized it safely away, only now he has it in black and white. Dean finds him physically attractive and enjoys his company enough to want to connect with him in the future. At the thought, Cas’s empty stomach turns over yet again. He sits perfectly still until the latest spasm calms and then he hauls himself off the floor and brushes his teeth. He looks absolutely ghastly, his clammy skin exceedingly pale against his stubble. There are dark, puffy bags under his bloodshot eyes and his lips are almost painfully chapped. Maybe he should take a picture of himself to text to Dean. That would disabuse him of any notions regarding Castiel’s appearance.

Texting Dean is most definitely not an option.

He washes his face and stumbles into his room just in time to hear his phone chime.

_Hope you had fun with your friends last night. I’m gonna go get coffee at the place by the laundromat if you wanna hang._

Without responding, Cas powers down his phone and climbs back into bed.

The next time he wakes, the sun is already setting. He feels moderately better from the additional hours of sleep but remembering the texts from Dean has his stomach swooping in a most unpleasant way. He showers again, half-convinced he can still feel Dean’s breath and the heat of his nearness from last night. He does his best to scrub the film of poor decisions from his skin, concentrating on the task at hand so that he doesn’t have to think any further ahead.

Showered and dressed, he heads to the kitchen, passing his half-empty and long-cold coffee cup on the way. He stands in the kitchen examining the contents of his cabinets and fridge but nothing sounds good. Maybe he could manage some toast and a little tea. There’s no way he can still be hungover and it dawns on him that maybe he’s actually come down with a bug. Maybe the vomiting earlier and the lingering malaise is due to an honest to God virus. He’s never before been so cheered by the thought of having the stomach flu, and he finds a little spring in his step as he heats the kettle and toasts a slice of bread. It takes him a long time to get the food down as his stomach will only tolerate small bites and tiny sips, but it’s good to have something to focus on. He finds that he’s still somewhat queasy after eating, and he revels in it. See? He’s sick! No wonder he feels terrible. No wonder he can’t figure out what to do. He presses a palm to his own forehead to see if he feels warm, but he can’t tell. He doesn’t even own a thermometer because he never gets sick. In fact, in all the years he’s worked for the agency he’s never once taken a sick day.

He’s going to take a sick day.

He’s going to call in and tell them that he won’t be at work tomorrow because he’s sick. People do that all the time. Nobody will question a thing. They’ll say _feel better_ and _thanks for not bringing your germs to work_. Nothing he’s working on is so urgent that it can’t wait for him to get back. The thought of not going to the office and not having to deal with Dean Winchester comes with such a relief that his stomach feels immediately better, but he decides not to dwell on that.

He’ll have to call out, though, and that means powering his phone back up. This time he’s prepared. He navigates quickly away from the texting screen and pulls up Gabriel’s extension. Even to his own ears his voice sounds terrible, hoarse and rough from disuse, his throat raw from throwing up. He leaves Gabriel a message, then braves a look at his texts. Nothing new from Dean. Stomach twisting again, he grants himself a moment to think about what it would be like to happily accept Dean’s invitation. To meet him for coffee and see where that leads. _I thought about you all night_ , he could say if he were another person living another life. _I wish we hadn’t been interrupted_ , James could say, but Castiel cannot. There is no room for ambiguity here, so Cas taps off a quick message, then blocks Dean’s number and shuts off his phone again. Back in bed, he lies on his side with his knees pulled up almost to his chest, searching for a position where his stomach ache begins to ease.


	7. Chapter 7

When he called off sick, he envisioned a lazy day of sleeping late and babying himself, but he’s up Monday morning even before his alarm would normally go off. Tallying up the ridiculous amount of hours he’s slept in the past twenty-four, it’s not really a surprise. His stomach doesn’t feel great but it’s overshadowed by the rest of his body, stiff and achy from so much time in bed. Sighing, he gets up and stretches until the tightness in his lower back begins to loosen. It’s a relief to turn on his phone without worrying about what he might find and, in fact, the only text is from Gabe wishing him a speedy recovery. He was so smart to take today off. He’s demonstrating a good work/life balance, he decides. He feels validated in his decision, proud of the way he put his co-workers’ well-being ahead of his own workaholic ways. He feels...hungry.

Actually, he’s starving. He needs food and coffee and he needs it ten minutes ago. It was just a twenty-four hour bug he assures himself as he fries up a couple of eggs and toasts a bagel. At the first sip of coffee he feels his headache abate, like his brain has unclenched within his skull, and by the time he’s done with breakfast he feels energized and good as new. Only now he’s got an entire day ahead of him with nothing to do. Aimlessly, he peruses the movies in his collection, then runs a finger along the spines of books on his shelf but nothing seems quite right. He needs to _do_ something. Something he never has time for. He thinks of the way he left his dresser in a shambles looking for something to wear to the Roadhouse, and decides to tackle that.

It’s a good choice. He needs to take stock of what he has and purge what he doesn’t wear. Things that don’t fit or are too worn. Things his mother has bought him that keeps only out of obligation. Things he always rummages past to choose the same few items he always wears. He goes through each drawer, creating a giveaway pile and a throwaway pile. When he’s done with that, he goes through his closet, adding to the purge. With each shirt he gets rid of, every pair of pants or individual holey sock, his mood lightens.

On the floor of the closet he finds the shirt he wore Saturday night. Picking it up, he holds it by the shoulders, turning it so he can appraise it from every angle. He buries his face in it even though the only thing he can smell is his own deodorant. After a long moment he balls it up and tosses it onto the giveaway pile.

His room is a mess, the bed is covered with clothes, and the throwaway pile is strewn across the floor. All that’s left to do is get some trash bags from under the sink in the kitchen and pack it all up. Instead, he lets his back slide down along the closet door until he’s sitting on the carpet. All day, he’s tried not to think about it, but he knows what must be done. Tomorrow he’ll go in and make an appointment to talk to Naomi. He’ll confess everything, every contact he’s had with Dean, both accidental and of his own volition. He’ll point out all the lessons he learned from the incident with April and ask that Dean’s case be turned over to another agent. He’ll cut ties with Dean Winchester once and for all, excise him from his life quickly and painlessly, and hope that this will demonstrate enough self-awareness to keep him from losing his job.

*

The next morning he goes straight to Naomi’s office before even stopping at his own cubicle to drop off his coat and lunch. Her secretary informs him that Naomi is at an offsite meeting and won’t be in until after lunch.

She poises her hands over her keyboard. “Would you like to make an appointment?”

 _Yes. First available. It’s important._ He stands there long enough that she raises her eyebrows expectantly. “I’ll...I’ll check back.”

Even with the added stop, only Zachariah is at his desk when Cas arrives. “You’d better not still be contagious.”

“I’m feeling much better, Zachariah. Thanks for asking,” Cas says, slamming his lunch bag down on his desk.

“Touchy,” Zachariah says without even looking at him.

Cas starts up his own computer because what else is he supposed to do? Tell Zachariah he can’t do his job and ask him to please check his cases for him? He’d intended to get this all off his chest to Naomi first thing, every part of him so focused on taking that step that he hadn’t even considered what would happen if he couldn’t follow through with his plan.  

 _Maybe it’s a sign._ “Maybe you should shut up,” he mutters darkly, and that gets Zachariah’s attention. “Not you,” he adds even though it’s not a bad idea.

He doesn’t bother making any pretense of checking his other work first, and goes right to Dean’s file.  A quick glance shows things are still pretty terse with Sam, but with Charlie it’s a different story.

**Holy fuckin shit guess what**

**Ur probably asleep**

**Or gettin some**

**But guess who i ran into**

**AGAIN**

**James. Hot fucking James.**

**He was here and we hung out and i got his number**

_Wtf no way!!!_

**Yes way!**

_Wait where are you now?_

**I’m home. We hung out a bit and then he had to go meet friends and i went home after that.**

_Ok cool. I’m glad you had a good night instead of drinking yourself to death._

**I can’t believe he was there.**

**Hey shut up**

**It’s gotta be a sign of something.**

_For sure. A sign that you’re finally gonna get laid._

**We were getting pretty friendly in the back hallway, then Ash interrupted us.**

_Fucking cockblock Ash!_

_Wait who’s Ash?_

**A guy i used to work with when i tended bar out there. You’d love him, he’s a super nerd.**

The entire reason Cas was assigned this case just got cleared up in one text. There is no connection between Ash and Charlie. But hey, maybe thanks to his own interference there will be in the future. He puts his head in his hands for a moment before continuing to read.

_Ok so what’s your next move?_

**I was thinking I’d ask him to coffee tomorrow somewhere in the neighborhood.**

_Tomorrow? Wow, Winchester that’s not your style. No three day waiting period?_

**I KNOW RIGHT**

**I dunno i feel like now that i finally know how to reach him, i don’t want to let it go to waste**.

_You’ve got it bad and I’m happy for you._

**I didn’t think anything that didn’t involve my baby magically reappearing could make me feel better. But James did.**

**Let’s pretend i never said that.**

_:X_

_Ok get some sleep loverboy and good luck tomorrow._

Cas takes a deep breath. There’s no time to linger on the fact that Dean is apparently breaking his rules for Cas, almost rushing into wanting to see him again. Or that seeing Cas brought Dean some much-needed relief from the misery he was in.

The next thing he sees is a screenshot showing Dean’s message to him about coffee followed by Cas asking him to please not contact him again.

_What in the everlasting FUCK_

**I don’t know.**

**I guess i was wrong.**

_I’M GONNA FIND HIM AND KICK HIS ASS HOW DARE HE_

_You ok?_

_I’m so sorry_

Nearly an hour passes before Charlie gives up waiting on a response and calls Dean. Cas pulls up the recording.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” Cas winces at the flat sound of Dean’s voice.

“You wanna go see a movie or something? Get some lunch?”

“Nah. I’m good.”

“You most definitely are not. You’re going through a shit time.”

“I guess.”

“Look, I know things suck but let’s go do something. Anything’s got to be better than sitting around feeling miserable.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?” Charlie challenges, before softening her tone. “Look, just don’t shut everyone out, ok? If you won’t talk to me, how about Sam?”

Dean snorts. “Sam’s barely speaking to me right now.”

“Ok, but—“

“I gotta go.”

Dean ends the call. Charlie texts him a series of hearts.

“Feeling better, Castiel?” Cas startles. Hannah is standing at his cubicle, her blue eyes warm with concern.

“Uh, yes. Thank you.”

She peers at him more closely. “Are you sure you didn’t come back too soon? You look sort of pale. And tired.”

He feels a trickle of cold sweat run down his back as he musters a smile. “No, I feel fine today. Just...lots to catch up on.”

“It was only one day. I’m sure it’ll be no problem, but let me know if you need help with anything.”

Trying for casual, Cas exits out of his screen. “I’ll do that. Thank you.”

The office is filling up now and Gabe stops by to check on him as well. Inias reminds them that his baby spent three days throwing up a few weeks ago and that he really hopes there isn’t something new going around. Cas would like to reassure him, to let him know that he was never sick. Maybe could blame it on food poisoning or something, anything but admit that he’d fucked himself over until his entire digestive system just turned itself inside out, but even veering from his false narrative feels like sliding off the edge of a precipice. “Luckily mine was short-lived,” he finally says in response to an extremely detailed recounting of places a baby’s vomit can permeate.

On the positive side, between the general malaise he’s projecting and the work he needs to catch up on, he’s left to his own devices for most of the day. He gets himself up to speed on the rest of his work and, by begging off noontime invitations and nibbling on a few bites of sandwich at his desk, he’s pretty much back on track by day's end. He feels better and more in control by having his time structured in such a familiar way. His day off at home left him far too well-acquainted with his own thoughts, turning what he’d hoped would be a welcome respite into a nearly unbearable punishment.

The decision to talk to Naomi, which had felt so straightforward and clear right up until the moment she was unavailable, has lost its appeal. Seeing Dean’s reaction, the way it veered from enthusiastic excitement to disappointment and hurt has deflated the single-minded mission with which he started the day. He can still hear the numbness in Dean’s voice as he spoke to Charlie. He knows what he did was for the best, but he can’t erase the fact that he caused Dean that pain. In his effort to make sure Dean was all right, he managed to crush the little bit of spark his father hadn’t ground out under the heel of his shoe. Cas doesn’t have it in him right now to lay it all out with Naomi.

After specifically not looking at Dean’s case since this morning, Cas opens it up one last time before he leaves for the day. If Dean is going to berate him to Charlie, well, he deserves it. If it would make Dean feel better to call him names and swear, then so be it. It’s a small price to pay. But when he checks, there’s nothing to see. No texts, no phone calls, no emails. No logging in to his computer. Unless Dean has suddenly taken to opening up to people in person, it seems that he’s closed himself off from the world completely. With his stomach feeling sick again, Cas shuts off his computer and goes home.

*

The next morning he finds that Dean’s sent a text to Charlie and Sam. From the identical typo in it, he’s typed it once and copied it.

**Taking a few days of. Going to Rufus old cabin.**

_How?_ Sam texts back

**_Got a car from work._ **

_K_

He doesn’t respond to Charlie’s text asking him to check in when he gets there.

Cas tries to cover his dismay by locking fully into investigation mode. Who is Rufus? Where’s the cabin? With the Impala gone, Cas has no idea what Dean is driving. He doesn’t like the sound of any of this. It feels sudden and harsh. Dean doesn’t have a history of missing work, his attendance there is similar to Cas’s, but now he’s taking some time off last minute. His every communication continues to be terse and clipped to a worrying degree. Dean’s been betrayed, lost his prized possession, and now he’s been rejected. Cas basically kicked him when he was down and now he’s isolating himself physically as well as emotionally. Cas knows enough about human behavior to know that these are serious warning signs. Red flags.

He could wait, tracking Dean’s phone as he travels, learning the destination that way, but instead he spends much of the morning researching. He figures out who Rufus is which leads him to finding the cabin, located in the forest about two hours north. He’s got it pinned down well before Dean gets there, tracking his location with satisfaction as he approaches it.

Despite his lack of response earlier, he does text Charlie.

**made it**

Cas can almost hear the forced enthusiasm in her reply.

_Thanks for letting me know!_

_Call me anytime, ok?_

_Have fun communing with nature or whatever bullshit!_

The communication with Charlie appeases Cas enough that he’s able to concentrate on his work for most of the afternoon. He checks back now and then but Dean has neither called nor texted anyone else. It’s nearly the end of the day when he checks and realizes that, as far as he can tell, Dean hasn’t touched his phone for a couple of hours. Which could mean nothing. Maybe he’s napping, maybe he’s outside in nature like Charlie said. But up until now Dean has been a pretty typical phone user, putting in his passcode dozens of times each day, peeking into social media, checking email, opening apps or games. If nothing else, he tends to listen to music nearly constantly. It might not mean anything, but it forms a thread of wariness in Cas that he tries to push down.

He’s forced to refocus when Hannah shouts. “Yes! Do it, you miserable SOB!” The entire office puts eyes on her and she looks up triumphantly. “I need an independent verification.”

Gabe nearly leaps from his chair, grabbing a paper from a cork board. He makes his way to Hannah, standing behind her as they both examine her screen.

“I had three by lunchtime so I started to document them.” She clicks through to show Gabe what must be screenshots. “One, picked his nose. That’s practically a given. Two. Sing to an animal. I have him serenading his dog.” She unplugs her headphones and the whole office is treated to a surprisingly good snippet of You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling. “Three. Something unexpected in an orifice.” Cas, along with the rest of the office, braces for that one, but Hannah shakes her head. “It’s not disgusting, but he used a chopstick to clean his ear. Still counts.” She looks over her shoulder at Gabe who nods. “Ok, so. Clearly we’ve got genitalia as he’s sitting here naked and guess what he just googled?” She jabs her finger onto a particular square of the paper.

“No,” Gabe says, aghast.

“Yes. Now I just need him to do it.”

“He can’t. There’s no way.”

“Which one?” Zachariah demands. “What’s he going to do?”

Hannah, with her sweet heart-shaped face and professional blazer, meets his eye. “Suck his own dick.”

“Does that count?” Inias asks.

“It just says ‘suck a dick' it doesn’t say whose.”

“She’s right,” Gabe says. “And by God, i think he’s gonna do it.”  

By now, all work has ceased in the office as they wait to see what happens. Zachariah even lets a phone call go directly to voicemail.

“C’mon. C’mon,” Hannah urges and then, in tandem, Gabe and Hannah tilt their heads to the side. Just slightly at first, then further and further. Cas can’t see what they’re looking at but if the grimaces on their faces are any indication, the guy is making progress.

Gabe bangs a fist down on her desk. “All confirmed!”

“Yes!” Hannah throws both arms overhead.  “I win!”

Cas is not immune to participating in the few wild moments of hugs and high fives.

“You know what this means,” Gabe says. “New cards coming up.”

“ _And_ you’re all buying me drinks.”

Gabe returns to his desk to pull open a drawer and retrieve an envelope containing one hundred dollars in cash, twenty from each of them put aside for the bingo prize. He presents it with a flourish, and Hannah curtseys gracefully before clutching the money to her chest. “Some days I love this job.”

They explain to Inias about the mandatory after-work drinks, with all of them paying for the winner. It’s close enough to the end of day that Gabe declares it quitting time and they walk down the block to get beers and a variety of fried appetizers. Cas can’t distinguish them all, but everything is tasty when it’s been breaded, fried, and dunked in ranch dressing. The place is still too loud and too crowded, but Cas feels comfortable in this little knot of people where he’s not expected to say much. This makes two bars in less than a week and he can’t help but compare them. This place calls itself a microbrewery and It’s much brighter and more modern than the Roadhouse. Instead of swigging out of bottles, people here drink from frosty glasses and some even have trays of beer samplers, holding miniature glasses up to compare and contrast. There are no pool tables or jukebox. Most everyone looks like they’ve just come from work, with the men almost exclusively dressed in suits and ties. Cas takes another drink of beer and looks around. There are plenty of attractive men here, even some who smile at him when he catches their eyes, but he doesn’t feel anything toward them. The thought of attempting to get to know someone, to risk making small talk, to be on the receiving end of that glazed-over look before they excuse themselves to find someone more interesting to chat with, it all exhausts him to the point of not even wanting to try.

He doesn’t know why it feels so different with Dean. Why being close to him has a magnetic effect, always drawing him nearer, despite Cas’s best intentions. He knows it’s just a fantasy. Cas’s reactions to Dean are based on a truth Dean can never know. Whatever he thinks he sees in Cas isn’t real, and maybe that’s why it works for Cas. He doesn’t have to be himself. Because so far that’s never worked for him.

Inias is the first one to break up the party, swallowing the last of his beer and getting to his feet. “I don’t like to miss the baby’s bedtime,” he says almost shyly. “It’s the only time I see her all day.”

Cas, seeing his opening, gets to his feet as well. He’s surprised to see Gabe push his glass away and join them. With that, the entire party breaks up. Cas tries to contain the antsiness bubbling inside as he waits for them to gather their things and for Hannah to make a bathroom stop before they can all walk back together to retrieve their cars from the garage.

Cas knows he should call it a day. He should go back home and concern himself with his own business. But he’s eaten enough to not need dinner and the thought of that stretch of hours without even a meal to cut into the time has him edgy. If he checks on Dean now and can determine that all is well, he’ll be able to spend his evening with one less worry at least. His mind made up, Cas bids goodbye to his co-workers at the garage entrance, saying that he’s left his lunch bag up in the office. He’s just stepped into the elevator when he hears a voice calling after him to hold it, and he puts a hand up to stop the doors from closing so that Gabe can enter.

“Hell of a day,” Gabe says.

“Mmmm,” Cas says, his mind spinning as he tries to come up with a way to log into his computer without arousing suspicion. He’d counted on having the office to himself but Gabe seems in no hurry to leave, plopping down onto his desk chair even as Cas kills time washing out his coffee mug.

“So,” Gabe says, when Cas has thoroughly dried it and is packing it back into his lunch bag. “What’s got you so stressed out?”

“Me? Nothing. I mean, just the usual. Work.”

“Castiel.”

“Yes?”

“You’re a terrible liar. Like, possibly the worst I’ve ever seen.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Cas lies. Terribly.

“I mean that you’ve been totally distracted the past few days. You look like you want to jump out of your skin at any moment. You couldn’t wait to leave and get back here this evening.” Cas is still standing there, twisting his lunch bag in both hands and Gabe gestures at Zachariah’s chair. “Sit.”

Cas does. Zachariah’s chair feels all wrong but he sets his lunch bag down and sits, trying not to let his leg jiggle with the nervous energy swelling through his entire body.

“We’ve known each other a long time. I’ve seen you do this job for years, Hell, I helped train you.” Cas smiles a little at that. He remembers how kind Gabe was in the early days when he was just out of school, equal parts eager to please and terrified of making a mistake. Gabe had worked with him, stressing teamwork and support until Cas had felt comfortable asking questions instead of blindly soldiering through when he got himself lost. “I know you well enough to know when you’re off your game and, buddy, you’re so far off you can’t even see the field. Now, what’s going on?”

Gabe’s posture is still casual, he’s leaning forward with his forearms resting on his knees, but there’s an edge to his voice that tells Cas he wants a truthful answer. When Cas dares to look him in the eye, he sees both kindness and concern there.

Cas is so tired. He’s so tired of keeping this hidden and feeling like he’s flailing through his own life. Gabe is here, wanting to know, and Cas is so tired. “I’ve...made some mistakes.”

“Ok.”

“I’ve had some contact with one of my cases.”

Gabe relaxes a little. “That happens. It’s why we have a protocol for reporting it. We can take it to Naomi in the—”

“Repeated contact.”

Gabe goes deadly silent for a long, icy moment. “Castiel, are you having a sexual relationship with—

“No! Nothing like that, I swear,” Cas says, even as he remembers the solid heat of Dean’s body pressed against his in the back hallway of the Roadhouse. “But there might have been some things that were...misconstrued.”

“Tell me everything.”

Cas does. He tells of the accidental laundromat meeting and then he tries to justify the conversation in the park. Even as he’s telling Gabe, he hears how lame his excuses sound. He should’ve reported the first meeting at once, he knows that, and not having done so makes his appearance at the park even more soaked in guilt.  

“You know better than this, Castiel.” There’s a steeliness in his eyes that Cas has never seen before and he falters his way through the rest of the story.

“I saw him discussing me with Charlie and I knew I was in too deep but then I saw his dad steal his car and he was so upset about it and—”

“Wait, what? His dad stole his car?”

Cas backtracks, providing a synopsis of Dean’s upbringing and his father’s frequent disappearances. As he relates the way the car was so important to Dean, both a comfort and a prized possession, he realizes he’s stopped reporting and he’s simply telling a story. A story about a person he cares for. Gabe must realize it too because he’s watching Cas in a way that’s become more curious than angry.

“Ok, so let me see if I have this straight. You were worried about him because he was upset so you decided to follow him to the bar where he was going to drown his sorrows.”

“I only wanted to be sure he was safe.” Gabe raises an eyebrow at that. “I was going to watch from afar. Make sure he didn’t drink and drive or anything.”

“What would that have looked like, Cas? Were you going to call the cops on him? Or just offer him a ride home yourself?”

Cas lets his head drop. “It doesn’t really matter because he saw me as soon as I walked in.”

“And you didn’t turn right back around and leave again.”

“I did not.”

“And you didn’t, oh, I don’t know, call _me,_ your old friend Gabe who could have helped you dig yourself out of this hole.”

Cas shakes his head.

“So, what _did_ you do?”

 _I almost kissed him_ , Cas thinks. _I wanted to and I almost did and I think he wanted me to._ But there are some things he can’t admit, even now. “We hung out. Played pool and talked.”

“Perfect. Just perfect.”

“He...got my number. It’s not important how—” In response to Gabe’s glare, Cas amends. ”He grabbed my phone from my hand when it was unlocked and texted himself. But I blocked him. I asked him not to contact me and I blocked him the very next day and...the thing is, I could see how hurt he was. I could see how confused and upset I’d made him on top of everything else he was going through and then he left town. Drove off to some cabin in the woods and he’s stopped communicating with everyone. I’ve been checking all afternoon and nothing. It’s like his phone isn’t even there, but I know it is and I know he has a signal and his battery is charged but there’s no sign of him using it.”

Gabe holds up a hand. “Ok, slow down. There could be a lot of reasons for that. Maybe he’s sleeping or consciously staying away from it. He could just need a break.”

“I know. I know all that.” He runs an agitated hand through his hair. “But I’m worried he might hurt himself. And I can’t just sit by and see if that happens when I know that my actions are at least partially to blame.”

Gabe stares at him, and Cas can’t read his expression, so it comes as a surprise when he says “Check.”

“What?”

He gestures towards Cas’s computer. “Go check. He’s probably fine and then you can take the twelve-ton weight off from around your neck.”

Cas hurries to start up his computer. “Thank you, Gabriel.”

“You know you have to take this to Naomi, though, right? Like, yesterday.”

“I do know that. And just as soon as I find out that…” he trails off, when he sees that nothing has changed. Dean’s phone remains untouched, and ice seems to flood through his veins at the news.

Gabe comes to look over his shoulder. “Ok, look. There is still no real cause for alarm. Too many things unknown. It’s been how long?”

“Seven hours.”

“That’s nothing. Look, Cas. You’ve been dealing with this all on your own, which was a mistake,” he says pointedly. “So let me be the objective part of your brain. You know he got there. Clearly he’s looking to get away from it all and you of all people need to respect that. Go home, get some rest, and we’ll check again tomorrow.”

Reluctantly, Cas begins the shut down process. He doesn’t like it, but everything Gabe is saying makes sense. He’s lost his ability to be objective and he knows it. Gabe walks Cas to his car but Cas can’t decide if it’s friendship or something more official.


	8. Chapter 8

Home in his apartment, Cas sits in his chair not bothering to turn on a light even as the last of the daylight fades away. He sits there as dusk turns into full dark, emotions warring inside him. On the one hand, he feels better for having been open with Gabe. There’s an immense weight that’s lifted off of him at confessing his missteps. Gabe had been angry, and with good reason, but he seemed to understand why Cas was so concerned. Even if he hadn’t fully appreciated Cas’s reasoning, he’d been kind about it. But having that weight gone seems to have left more space in his brain to fill with worry. As the minutes tick slowly past, it feels like his skin is too tight, and he sits rigidly in his chair, nearly grinding his teeth to keep himself still. Anything more might lead to getting up and pacing around the apartment and he can’t be sure that won’t escalate into jumping in his car and driving north.

When he finally gets up to get ready for bed, there’s a sharp ache between his shoulder blades and he has to concentrate on uncurling his fists. He changes clothes, leaving his shirt and slacks where they fall on the bathroom floor, and brushes his teeth. Lying in bed, every sound seems magnified. Each passing car, the creak of a door down the hall, or footsteps in the apartment above him acts as an assault on his already ragged nerves. He tosses and turns, unable to find a comfortable position, and the only reason he knows he’s slept at all is because he wakes with a start in the middle of a nightmare. In his dream he’d been trying to catch a train, but his path was thwarted a thousand times: a train schedule in the wrong language, a broken escalator, a misplaced ticket. There’s no point in going back to sleep after that so he makes himself some coffee as he waits for the sky to lighten enough so that he can go into work.

Not surprisingly, he’s the first one in the office. He starts up his computer while the coffee and stress burn together in his stomach. Laser-focused, he checks to see if there’s been any activity overnight.

He does find something new, but instead of bringing a jolt of relief, something twists painfully in his chest.

 _How’s it going?_ Sam texted at 9:32 p.m.

Cas doesn’t know everything about Dean Winchester. Honestly, the things he does know amount to a couple of pages in the lengthy book of his life. But one thing has been a constant, a thread running from his earliest days to the present: Sam has always been his brother’s number one priority. For Dean to leave him unanswered like this feels unimaginable. It’s clear even to Cas that not only is this a text from younger brother to older, it’s a peace offering.  

Cas is on his feet in an instant, his brain screaming at him to _go._ He’s hustling to the door that will take him to the elevator when he sees Gabe on the other side of the glass, two cups of coffee in his hands. Cas yanks the door open and Gabe nearly drops the cups.

“Jesus, you scared me.” His eyes search Cas’s face. “Nothing?”

“There was.” It comes out hoarse and Cas clears his throat and tries again. “There was a text from his brother, but no response.”

“Do you know if he even saw it?”

“I don’t know anything, Gabriel. And I won’t until I go see for myself.”

“Whoa. Slow down. We can send out a non-emergency welfare check on him. Say a neighbor thought they heard a disturbance or something.”

“There are no neighbors,” Cas says, his voice rising. “There’s no one. I need to go.”

“Cas, you need to talk to Naomi. Let her decide how to handle this. And if you won’t, I will.”

Cas shakes his head. “Look. There’s little I can do to make things worse than I already have, but there’s a very small chance I can do something to make this better. Can you cover for me long enough to get out there and see? After that, I promise I’ll come right back here and go straight to Naomi myself.”

“I don’t like this. It’s stupid and it’s reckless and you know it. At least you used to.” Gabe regards Cas for a long moment. “You’re going to go no matter what I say, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

Sighing, Gabe thrusts one of the coffee cups at him. “Let me know what you find. And I reserve the right to laugh when he chases you off the property for trespassing.”

*

The garage attendant gives him a funny look as he pulls out, but Cas doesn’t pay him any mind. He navigates his way through the burgeoning rush hour traffic, swearing under his breath at every red light. He thought that finally getting on the road would take some of the pressure off, but by the time he gets to the highway, he’s having to stop himself from flooring the gas pedal. He could do it, he could drive as quickly as he could, swerving past traffic. If a cop pulled him over, he could yank off the ID still clipped to his suit jacket and get out of any ticket. But it would lose him time in the long run. Plus, there’s no point in risking a run-in outside the city with a cop who has something to prove. He unclips the ID and stashes it in the console as he works to calm his breathing, relaxing his grip on the wheel and rolling his shoulders. He’s on his way now.

The further he gets from the city the more the countryside opens up. Farmland stretches out in neatly defined plots with gas stations and fast food restaurants clumping up at crossroads. Turning north, the hills get steeper and the open fields give way to forests. From the small signs he passes, it appears to be an area popular for fishing. Fishing licenses, rods and reels, and bait are advertised at nearly every small business he passes. It’s a peaceful, scenic area where tall, shady trees surround a scattering of lakes reflecting the springtime sky. The skies are clear, but the morning is chilly, and he passes a man fishing from a bridge, bundled in a warm coat with a cigarette in his mouth as he lazily casts his rod.

Cas is forced to slow down when he gets stuck behind an overloaded truck on a two-lane road. Maybe he’s overreacting after all. There’s such an abundance of nature here, so many ways to clear one’s head. Maybe Dean has pitched a tent under the stars. From the satellite pictures he’d looked at, there’s a small lake not far from the cabin. Maybe he’s waking up now, sitting on a log, blearily drinking some coffee that he boiled over a campfire.

As he continues behind the truck, Cas checks the route he’s put into the navigation system on his phone. With only about twenty minutes left to go, he’s starting to feel foolish. Best case scenario is that he can catch a glimpse of Dean from afar, then turn around before Dean ever knows he was there. But as he makes the final turn onto the road that will take him to the cabin, it’s hard to imagine how that might happen unless he were to pass Dean driving. The few houses he sees are set far back from the road, homesites carved out of thickly wooded areas. There will be no way to ascertain Dean’s status without getting close to the house. There’s not even a place to pull over his car where it would go unnoticed.

Dean will be fine, or he won’t. He’ll see Cas and be pissed, or he won’t. There are very few other outcomes, but no matter what happens, this concern that is eating its way through his stomach will be gone. Good or bad, at least Cas will _know_. He switches on his turn signal and pulls into the long driveway. As the house comes into view, he notes right away that no lights are on, and the sick cold feeling washes over him again, like it’s seeping out of his bones.

He pulls in behind what must be Dean’s car, a plain sedan so ugly that it hurts to think of Dean behind the wheel. A quick check shows that it’s empty and he lays a hand on the cool hood to confirm that the car hasn’t been driven any time recently. He crouches down to check underneath it before walking up the stairs to the house. Despite the chilly morning, no smoke is coming from the chimney. The front blinds are drawn so he isn’t able to look inside and he’s no longer patient enough to circle the property to see what he can find.

Raising his hand to knock, he hesitates. Perhaps Dean is inside sleeping or watching television. Perhaps everything is fine and Cas has made a mistake of the utmost degree. Taking a fortifying breath, he raps loudly on the door.

When there’s no response, he knocks again. Then he tries the door. It’s unlocked, and dread seems to claw its way into his throat as he opens it.

“Dean? Are you there?” No answer.

At this point, Dean could come striding out of a back room to confront the intruder with a gun cocked and aimed, and Cas would be so glad to see him that he wouldn’t even be scared. Calling out again as he works his way through the cabin, Cas tries to remain calm and focused but each time he opens a door, he braces himself for what he might find. The cabin is cold and the wood stove shows no sign of being lit, but Dean was definitely here. His duffel has been tossed onto the bare mattress which tells Cas that despite being here overnight, he hasn’t slept in the bedroom. Once he’s cleared the house, he goes outside to check the perimeter, continuing to call Dean’s name as he does. After circling the house and finding nothing, he goes back toward the driveway, taking in the thick woods that back the cabin. It looks endless, with the trees casting long shadows in the early morning sun. He doesn’t know where to start and his chest is tight as his heart races, urging him to spring into an action he can’t formulate. His vision starts to tunnel and he has to bend over and rest his hands on his knees while taking slow deep breaths.

With his head down and his heart rate slowing, he notices a path leading into the woods. It’s narrow but obviously one that’s been well-established, and he curses himself for not seeing it before. _Stop panicking_ , he tells himself sternly. With a place to start, he feels better, and he takes off into the woods, his trench coat billowing behind him as he calls for Dean. He doesn’t have a real plan other than “search” and he swivels his head looking everywhere for anything out of place.

He knows how to do this. He knows how to approach and examine a potential crime scene with a calm and methodical point of view. He knows how to break this overwhelming setting into smaller, more manageable parts and work through them. He’s been trained, he’s a professional, but his brain won’t slow down long enough for him to get a handle on the situation. It should click on like clockwork, a professional detachment that lets him do his job, but no matter how he tries to calm himself, he can’t seem to get there. The disconnect has him nearly growling with frustration, and that’s not helping a damn thing.

It’s a literal forest. Tall trees and taller trees, shrubs and bushes, patches of overgrown berry brambles. Cast in shadows, everything seems equally ominous, every dark patch a hiding place. From looking at the satellite imagery, he knows there’s a lake back this way. Maybe the path leads there, maybe it’s a camping spot and maybe he’ll find Dean there, sitting calmly in front of a campfire as Cas barges in. He stops and glances above the trees. No sign of any smoke. He knows there are still logical explanations to be had, but everything feels _wrong_.

The forest is a bit thinner here, the trees spaced further apart and he passes a few stumps where some have clearly been cut down. The path curves to the right and, turning the bend, his eye is drawn toward something out of place, something dark tossed over a low branch along the left side of the path. Sprinting toward it, he recognizes Dean’s jacket. It’s chilly, why would he have taken it off? Why leave it so precisely here, folded neatly over a branch?

He calls Dean’s name a few more times, stopping in between, staying as still and silent as he can to listen for a response. Instead, he hears a loud chattering. A big grey squirrel is busily making its way down a tree trunk, scampering across the path from right to left before disappearing again out of view. It’s as good a sign as any, Cas thinks, and moves in the same direction.

He’s still in view of the path when he finds Dean.

He’s dead. He must be. He’s lying on the ground, unmoving, pinned by a fallen tree. Cas moves quickly, jumping over bushes to get there faster. He feels his ankle turn as he lands on uneven ground but it doesn’t slow him down.

“Dean?” His voice cracks. He’s too late. He waited too long, tried to play by the rules, and now he’s too late.

Dean’s eyes flutter open and he stares up toward the sky.

Cas crouches beside him. “Dean? Can you hear me?”

He looks terrible. He’s pale and his lips are dry and cracked. His face is stained with dirt and smears of dried blood, although there don’t appear to be any cuts. The tree has landed across his hips and while Cas doesn’t see any blood where he lies, there’s no way to tell the extent of his injuries.

Still staring upwards, Dean blinks slowly. Cas puts a hand on his shoulder, leaning over him to help Dean find his eyes. A shuddering chill wracks Dean’s body and Cas realizes he must’ve spent the entire night out here in only a long-sleeved shirt.

“James?” His eyes are glassy and bloodshot, and his voice is a rasp. The lie in his name causes a twinge of guilt that’s quickly surpassed by the fact that Dean is cognizant enough to recognize him. “I didn’t think it’d be you,” Dean says, so softly that Cas has to lean in to hear him. “I figured Sam, or maybe my mom, but ok. Is it time?”

Dean swallows and it’s a parched, sticky sound. Cas curses himself for not bringing any water with him. “It’s ok, Dean. I found you and I’m going to get you some help.”

It’s hard to make out his words when his teeth are chattering, but Cas leans closer and hears him say, “You look so real.”

“I am real, Dean.” Cas pulls his phone out of his pocket, not even surprised to find that there’s no signal. He’ll need to go back towards the cabin to call for help. He knows he can’t move Dean but maybe he can get the tree off of him. “I’m going to get you out of here, ok?”

He gets to his feet and circles around, looking at Dean from every angle. His hands are filthy, the nails torn and bloody. His jeans are wet where he’s clearly urinated on himself. Squatting to use the power of his legs, Cas tries to lift the tree off of him, but while it doesn’t even seem to budge, Dean cries out nonetheless. Cas lets out a small, frustrated sound of his own. There’s no way to roll it off of him without doing God knows how much more damage.

He needs to go for help.

Trying to sound calmer than he feels, he kneels down where Dean can see him again. “I have to go back to the cabin and call for help. I’ll be right back, ok? I’ll get you some water, too.”

“Ok, I’m ready,” Dean says and his eyes flutter closed.

Cas wants to shake him, to rouse him and make him promise not to die but he’s terrified of making things worse. He yanks off his trench coat and tries to tuck it around him. “I’ll be right back,” he promises again and takes off back to the path.

He’s nearly wheezing by the time he gets to the clearing around the cabin, zagging this way and that with his phone held out like a divining rod, but he has to go almost to the road before he gets a steady enough signal to call. Breathless, he somehow manages to relay all of the pertinent information. He’ll have to come back when the crews arrive to lead them down the path, but in the meantime he grabs a bottle of water from his car and a blanket he keeps folded in the trunk and runs back into the woods.

He calls out as he approaches, nothing that makes any sense, just hoping that the sound of his voice is a reassuring thread for Dean to cling to. When he’s close enough to see that Dean’s chest is still rising and falling, albeit shallowly, his knees go wobbly and he inelegantly sinks to the ground next to him.

“Ok, Dean, I’m here.” He tucks the blanket around him as best he can, but Dean scarcely seems to notice. “Can you try a little water?”

At that, Dean’s eyes open. He can’t drink lying flat, so Cas gently props up his head a little. “Is that ok? Does that hurt?” Dean doesn’t respond, so Cas tips a little bit of water into his mouth, but Dean doesn’t swallow it. It sits inside his mouth and then he starts to cough.

_Jesus Christ you’ll kill him yet._

Cas rearranges himself until he has Dean’s head in his lap and puts a little of the water into the bottle cap. He manages to get a few tiny sips into him that way until Dean sighs and turns his head away.

“Is my mom here? Can I see her?”

Cas blink away tears as he strokes Dean’s forehead, smoothing his hair. “Not yet, ok? Hang on a little longer, Dean. Just a little longer.” He can’t keep the tears from flowing as he begs. “Please, not yet. Don’t go.”

He sits, cradling him, until the sirens break up the silence of the forest.


	9. Chapter 9

Cas stays close, giving the paramedics what little information he has, watching as they rush to stabilize him, before they can work on deciding how best to extricate him from underneath the tree. He’s no longer alone in the forest but somehow Dean looks smaller and even more vulnerable surrounded by the rescue crews. They work quickly, but carefully, talking to each other in a practiced shorthand. At first they let Cas stay close, holding the I.V bag that’s draining into his arm as they consider their options. When a second crew arrives bearing a chainsaw, they tell Cas he’ll need to move, but he refuses until they threaten to make him return to the cabin all together. Only then does he get up, going to stand near the path as directed, wearing borrowed eye protection and ear plugs. It’s horrible to watch them shroud Dean’s upper body and face with a tarp to protect him from flying debris, but they’ve given him pain medication and he barely even flinches when the chainsaw starts to roar and whine.  

One of the paramedics, an older man who seems calm and confident, stands nearby. Cas can’t help asking him for reassurance. “It’s good that he’s not bleeding, right?”  

“Yes and no. The problem is that sometimes the most dangerous part of a crush injury happens after they’re freed.” The paramedic must see Cas react to that because he quickly explains more. “That’s why they’re giving him those fluids and meds. The crushing causes cells to release a lot of potassium and when the barrier—in this case, the tree—gets taken off, It’s sort of like removing a dam. All that potassium rushes into the bloodstream and that can affect the heart rhythm. But these guys know what they’re doing.”  

The thought of things getting worse is so inconceivable that Cas can’t process it. Instead, he finds himself thinking _he’s not out of the woods yet_ and that applies at so many levels that he feels a hysterical laugh building in his chest. He tries to stifle it but it won’t be contained, surfacing as something a lot more like a sob, and he doubles over as the paramedic pats him on the shoulder.

They send a helicopter to evacuate him to the nearest trauma center, an hour northeast. Police arrive to close off the road so that the helicopter has a place to touch down. They lift Dean up on a stretcher, hustling him up the path so quickly that Cas can barely catch a glimpse of his face, which is obscured by the oxygen mask anyhow. Cas goes back to examine the place where he lay. The grass is crushed, the dirt muddy where it got wet. The imprint of his body is partially framed by sawdust, and there’s trash left behind, packaging from the supplies the paramedics tore open in their effort to stabilize him. The tree sits in pieces, looking as inoffensive as a summer’s day. Cas rests his hand on the still-warm earth, sending up a prayer to the universe. He gathers up his blanket and trench coat, along with the trash and the axe Dean had been using when things went so horribly wrong. His ankle is tender as he stumbles toward the path, stopping to retrieve Dean’s jacket from the branch. Dean’s cell phone falls from the pocket and Cas picks it up, slipping it in his own pocket.

When the last of the emergency vehicles pull away, Cas can’t put it off any longer and he calls Gabe.

“Hang on,” Gabe says, instead of hello, and Cas knows he’s moving someplace where he can speak freely.

“I need Sam Winchester’s number.”

“Did you find him? Is he ok?”

“He—” his voice cracks and he clears his throat and starts again. “He’s pretty badly injured. I don’t know. But he’s on his way to the hospital and I need to let his brother know.”

“Cas, how are you going to explain all that?”

It hardly seems to matter. Cas feels a weariness in his bones as the adrenaline subsides. He’s tired of lying, of pretending to be someone he’s not. Of pretending to be something he’s not. He found Dean and got him help and that’s what he’ll tell Sam. The rest can wait.

“Please, Gabe, can you get me his number?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. Hang on.”

Sam doesn’t answer. Cas wants to scream and throw his phone but instead he takes a deep breath in through his nose and leaves a message. “My name is Castiel Novak and I’m calling to say that your brother has been injured and he’s being taken to Providence Northeast hospital. Please call me.”

It’s past noon now and the sun is high overhead. He tugs off his suit coat and adds it to the pile he’s put in the trunk. There’s no question of what to do next. Inside, he’s struck again at how bare the cabin looks, beds stripped, sink empty. Other than the bag, it’s like Dean was never here. He tosses the bag into the passenger seat of his car and starts the drive to the hospital.

*

Being in the emergency department must be what it feels like to walk down the strip in Las Vegas. The buzzing fluorescent lights glare down, quivering almost imperceptibly in a way that’s somehow more distracting than a full flicker. Noise comes from all sides: the whoosh of the double doors sliding open, the constant jangling of phones ringing. People talk too loudly, overshadowing the announcements coming from the overhead intercom system. It should be a somber place, but there are a few people laughing together. Two young boys exclaim excitedly over the handheld game they are playing, while an elderly woman sitting at the end of their row moans repeatedly.

Cas checked in at the desk and has been told that they will let him know once they have anything to tell him. He looks for a chair out of the way but can’t bring himself to sit where he doesn’t have a view of the locked door that leads back from the waiting area, so he sits next to a woman rocking a baby. She glances at him briefly, then shifts the baby in her arms further away from him.

He’s sitting there still waiting when his phone rings, and he’s surprised to find it clenched in his fist.  

“Hello? Is this Castiel?”

“Yes, hello, Sam.”

“Where’s Dean? What happened?”

Cas rests his forehead in his free hand. “It...uh...it appears he was chopping down a tree and something went wrong and it fell on him? They think he was trapped there overnight.”

Sam’s voice rises. “Is he ok? How is he?”

Cas would like nothing more than to reassure him. “I...I don’t know. They brought him to the hospital by helicopter but they haven’t told me anything.”

“Ok. Ok, I’m going to start making my way there. Thank you for letting me know.” There’s a pause and Cas knows what’s coming next. “I don’t understand, though. Are you a neighbor?”

“I found him,” is all Cas says. “I’ll stay here until you arrive.”

*

It’s another hour before someone comes out to talk to him.  An hour of doors opening and closing, of people drifting in and out of his field of vision. But he jumps to his feet when they call him and he limps toward the door where the nurse is waiting.

“Are you injured as well?” Her eyes search his face.

“Just twisted my ankle, I’m fine.”

He follows her back until they stop at a curtained door. “He’s stable and resting now, but he has a pelvic fracture that’s going to require surgery later today. It’s lucky you found him when you did.”

“He’s going to be all right, though?”

“We’ll know more after the surgery. But you’re welcome to see him.” She pulls back the curtain to let him inside. “Just hit the button if you need anything.”

Cas nods, his eyes on Dean. His eyes are closed and he has monitor wires and IV tubes snaking out from the sleeves of his hospital gown. A nasal cannula is in place to deliver additional oxygen. His breathing seems regular at least. Cas starts to sit down next to him, but stops and moves across the small room to the sink in the corner to wash his hands first. As he’s scrubbing his hands clean, he catches sight of himself in the mirror and some things begin to make sense.

He’s got four bloody scratches along one side of his face where he must’ve run through bushes with thorns. His hair is standing up in clumps and he carefully pulls a couple of twigs out of it. He manages to wash his hands and face and smooth down his hair, but there’s nothing he can do about the dirt crusting the knees of his slacks. When he’s gotten himself as clean as he can, he sits in the chair next to Dean. He’s not sure what he’s allowed to do, but he ventures a hand out to rest on Dean’s forehead. He feels feverishly hot to the touch and Cas notices his cheeks are flushed pink. He pulls his hand back, still feeling the overly warm touch on his fingertips. A monitor tracks his heartbeat and respiration, and Cas watches it cycle endlessly, proof that Dean is alive. It’s almost hypnotic to watch it fill in from left to right and he doesn’t realize he’s dozed off until the sound of the curtain sliding open wakes him.

Sam Winchester stands in the doorway. Even knowing his height, he’s taller than Cas expected. He looks like a kid with his eyes wide and his hair falling over his forehead.

“Sam.” Cas gets to his feet.

“Castiel?” Sam looks at him quizzically for a moment before his attention is back to his brother.

Cas side steps away from the chair so that Sam can approach the bedside.

“Thank God you found him,” Sam says, tentatively reaching out a hand to touch Dean’s shoulder.

“They said he’s going to need surgery,” Cas says.

“The doctor told me. She said a few hours longer and he might not have made it.”

A shudder of guilt runs through Cas at the wasted time he spent wrestling with his conscience, hours that would have most definitely spared Dean further pain and suffering. “I’m sorry I didn’t get there sooner.”

“You found him in time. That’s what matters. How did that happen? Where was he?”

Cas is saved from answering when the curtain opens again and the nurse steps in. “Mr. Winchester, they’re about ready to move him to the OR.”

“Ok, can I go too?”

“They will show you to the waiting room there.”

The transport team shows up then and Sam joins Cas in the doorway.

“I’d like to come back tomorrow and see how he is,” Cas says.

To his surprise, Sam pulls him into a giant hug. “Of course. I can’t thank you enough. You saved his life.”

Cas gets directions to the nearest motel and drives there feeling like anything but a hero. He hadn’t planned to be gone overnight so he has no clothes packed. In the flurry of Dean being moved to surgery, he forgot about getting Sam Dean’s bag, so he carries it into the room for safekeeping. Then he strips down and climbs into the shower. The shower head is too low on the wall and he has to bend his knees to wet his hair. The water pressure cuts in and out, and intermittently the water turns scalding hot followed by a burst of icy cold, but it feels good to wash the day off of him. He doesn’t turn off the water until standing for so long proves to be too much for his swollen ankle. He doesn’t mind it, though. The pain he gets each time he flexes it, just the like sting of dragging his fingers across the cuts on his face, reminds him that it was real. That he got there in time to get Dean help.

He’ll have to figure out what to do about work, but he pushes that thought away and falls asleep with the promise of seeing Dean in the morning.

*

It’s early morning when he wakes, the sun not even fully up. He checks his phone to find a text from Sam sent just after midnight letting him know that Dean was out of surgery. He even texts Cas the hospital room number. Cas texts back asking if he can bring Sam some food, but Sam has already gotten something at the cafeteria.

Cas pulls back on his dirty clothes. He’s scraped as much of the dirt off his slacks as he could last night and he’s most likely ruined one of the threadbare towels cleaning the dirt from his shoes. It’s not great, but it’ll have to do. He pumps barely warm coffee into a styrofoam cup from the thermos by the check-in desk and drinks it down in a couple of long gulps.

He finds a place to drive thru and buys a breakfast sandwich which is somehow equal parts greasy and dry. The hospital is already bustling by the time he gets there, and he stops for directions at the information desk inside the main entrance. With a visitor’s sticker affixed to his shirt, he’s directed to the third floor and he rides the elevator up to find the proper room. Dean looks much as he did last night, but this time the head of his bed is slightly elevated. Sam gets up excitedly when he sees Cas.

“Hi! They said the surgery went great.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Cas says. He holds out the duffel. “I brought his bag. It, uh, ended up in my car.”

“Awesome. Thanks.”

At the sound of their voices, Dean’s eyes open and he blinks a few times as he tries to focus.

Sam takes the bag and directs Cas to the chair. “Dean, this is the guy who found you. His name is Castiel.”

Dean looks at Sam and then at Cas. He studies him for a long moment before saying, “It really was you.”

Sam smiles. “Your own guardian angel, the nurse said.”

“What were you even doing there, James? How did you find me?”

At that, Sam frowns. “He might be a little confused. They gave him some pain meds.”

“I’m not confused,” Dean says forcefully. “I know him. That’s James. We hung out the other night.”

“You know each other?” There’s a furrow between Sam’s brow. “You’ve met before?”

“Yes. Sort of. I can explain.”

“Were you following me? After you blew me off?”

“It’s not like that,” Cas says quickly. “I mean, I see how it might seem that way to you but—”

“What the hell is going on here? Are you some sort of stalker?” Sam gestures to the bed. “Did you do this to him?”

“No!” Cas almost yells it. “No.”

Dean tries to raise himself up a bit, but winces in pain. “Here, let me,” Sam says, and hits the button to elevate the head of the bed further. “Now explain what the fuck is going on here.”

Cas takes a deep breath. “My name is Castiel Novak, but Dean knows me as James. I’m a government agent and Dean was assigned to me for surveillance based on his association with two other known persons of interest.”

“What two people?”

“I’m not at liberty to divulge that.”

Sam darts a look at Dean. “What the fuck has Dad gotten himself into now?”

Dean lets his eyes drift closed for a long moment until Cas says, “None of this involves your father.”

“Ok, so what’s the deal,” Dean says. “You’ve been following me around? You tailed me to the cabin?”

“My surveillance is limited to electronic monitoring from a distance.”

“What, like bugs and shit?”

“No, using existing electronic devices,” Cas says. He can’t seem to speak clearly, everything is falling back into rigid technical talk. “Like, cell phones and laptops.”

It’s Sam who responds. “Ok, but that doesn’t explain what the hell you were doing in the middle of nowhere following him.”

He can feel the weight of both pairs of eyes on him. “Based on my observations, I had reason to believe that you might be in danger.”

Sam’s face softens at that for a moment. “Why didn’t you just call 911?”

“I didn’t have the proper amount of evidence for that. I broke protocol in coming to see for myself.”

“Wait,” Dean says. “So, every time I saw you was because you were spying on me? The laundromat? Everything?”

Cas holds up a hand. “The laundromat was pure coincidence. But...I should have notified my supervisor and been taken off your case after that happened.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I did not.”

“And the night at the Roadhouse?” Cas lets his gaze drop to the linoleum floor. When he glances up again, Dean has turned to stare at the ceiling, and Cas can see the muscle in his jaw working. “Get out.”

“Dean—"

Sam is on his feet now, pulling up to his full, impressive height. “You heard him.”

Cas goes.

*

He drives the three plus hours home, the miles disappearing under his wheels as he navigates using the least amount of brain power he can get away with. He’s managed to ruin everything both personally and professionally. He works on convincing himself to take solace in the fact that he did save Dean, that without his actions he might still be lying in the forest, dead of exposure if the complications from the fracture didn’t take him first. He didn’t do it for Dean to praise or thank him. He did it because it was the right thing to do.

A heaviness settles over him, but it’s familiar this time. He made a similar mistake with April, letting his emotions get in the way, and apparently the only thing he’s learned since that mistake is how to fuck up his job at an even more appalling level. His silent reverie is broken only by the buzz of his phone. Seeing that it’s a call from Gabe, he lets it go unanswered, not even bothering to listen to the voicemail until he’s back in his apartment and finally in clean clothes.

_Call me, Cas. I covered for you with Naomi as best I could but we need to talk._

Cas feels a pang at Gabe putting himself on the line for him. The last thing he wants to do is drag anyone else down into this mess. He’s made mistakes time and time again, and he alone deserves whatever’s coming his way. Leaning against the counter in his kitchen so as to take some of the pressure of his now-bruising ankle, he calls Gabe back.

“Finally. Where are you?”

“I’m home.”

“How is he?”

“The surgery went well.”

“That’s good news.”

“It is.”

“So why do you sound so awful?”

“He knows everything now.”

“And?”

Cas again hears the steel in Dean’s voice. It’s been playing in a loop in his head. “He told me to get out.”

There’s a long pause and then Gabe says, “Ok, have you eaten?”

“I’m...” Thinking back, Cas realizes he’s had nothing since the half-eaten breakfast sandwich. “No.”

“I’m coming over with food. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes.”

“Gabriel, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know.”

True to his word, Cas’s doorbell rings forty-five minutes later. Gabe holds a pizza box in one hand and a six pack of beer in the other, and his eyes widen at the cuts on Cas’s face. “What the hell happened to you? Have to fight a bear?”

“Nothing so exciting. I ran through some thorns, apparently.”

“Apparently?”

Cas shrugs. “I didn’t feel it at the time.” Limping, he ushers Gabe in, who of course doesn’t miss a thing.

“Do you need to get that looked at?”

“It’s fine.”

Cas reaches down plates from the cabinet while Gabe takes out two beers before putting the rest in the refrigerator. The sick feeling in his stomach dissipates and reforms into hunger as soon as Gabe opens the pizza box. Cas devours the first piece in record time and he’s halfway through his second slice before Gabe speaks.

“Saving lives is hungry work.”

Cas shrugs and takes a drink of beer. It’s cold and bitter and such a perfect accompaniment to the pizza that he feels his eyes fill with tears. Gabe should be chewing him out, haranguing him for putting both of their careers on the line. Instead he’s brought dinner and, even more thoughtfully, quiet companionship. Cas knows he’s fucked up. He’s out in the middle of the ocean on a deflating lifeboat but, at this very moment, he thinks maybe he can glimpse land.

Sighing, he sets down the bottle. “I could write you a list of every damn thing I did wrong. I can chart out how one poor decision led to another. I can tell you how I deluded myself into thinking I was doing the right thing over and over, but there’s one thing I can’t figure out.”

“What’s that?”

“I know how to do this job, Gabe. I’ve had years of training. I know how to stay calm in a crisis, how to approach a situation using my tools and skills. I know how to search, how to go still and really see what I’m looking at to find the clues I need. But…” He fidgets with his beer bottle, scraping his thumbnail under the edge of the label. “I got there and it all went out the window. I couldn’t concentrate, I couldn’t get a grip on myself and remember any of it.” He looks Gabe dead in the eye. “I panicked.”

He’s just confessed a major professional failure, but Gabe doesn’t look disgusted at his weakness. Oddly, he looks almost amused. “And?”

“And you can’t panic in this job. You know that. It’s all about staying calm and level-headed, sticking to the facts and the evidence.”

Gabe looks like he’s considering that as he gets up to get each of them another beer. He sets a bottle down in front of Cas, then drops a hand onto his shoulder. “You’re absolutely right, Cas.” Cas looks up at him in surprise. “All the training in the world isn’t going to help when the crisis concerns someone you care about.”

“I can’t keep making these mistakes. It was bad enough with April, and now Dean.”

Gabe returns to his chair and shakes his head. “Those are two separate things.”

“How can you say that? Both times I stepped away from the evidence because I got too close.”

Gabe tilts his bottle towards Cas. “Ok, that part is true. But it’s because you’re able to see them as people. We get told to look at them as case numbers and subjects.” Cas can almost hear Naomi say, _potential threats, not people_. "It’s not a bad thing that you can’t do that. I mean, maybe for this job, but in general? It shows you care.”

“Lotta good that’s doing me,” Cas mutters.

“Ok but, tell me this. Does this feel the same as what happened with April?”

Cas knows the answer but he needs a moment to find the right words. “No...with April I wanted to believe that she would do the right thing. I got so invested in wanting her to be innocent that I rationalized away the warning signs.”

Gabe is nodding like he already knew this. “And with Dean?”

Cas reflects on what he’s contemplated over and over these past few months. There had been no warning signs with Dean. Nothing that he’s pushed away from his consciousness so that he wouldn’t have to include it in his profile. Any rationalization Cas did was for himself, giving him an excuse to spend more time with Dean. Softly, he admits the truth. “I fell for him.”

Gabe is beaming now. “Yeah, you did.”

“Why are you acting like that’s a good thing?”

“Oh, you’re totally fucked where work is concerned,” Gabe says cheerfully, helping himself to another slice of pizza. “But congratulations on being human.”


	10. Chapter 10

The next morning Cas dresses with extra care, getting up out of bed when sleep eludes him just past dawn to iron his white shirt. He showers and shaves carefully around the scratches on his face, eats his toast and drinks his coffee, and checks himself one last time in the mirror before heading to work. He’s spent much of the past twelve hours or so working on what he’ll say to Naomi. He’s prepared notes even, a rough flowchart of the many forms her accusations might take along with ways he can address each of them. There are things she can’t possibly know, but he assumes she somehow will, and that she’ll call him on them. He’s made bullet points of the things he can refute and talking points for how to most graciously accept responsibility for the things he can’t. He can only hope that she’ll let him plead his case without firing him the moment she lays eyes on him.

He’s learned from this, he’ll tell her. He understands now that what he once saw as a fluke he can now recognize as a pattern. He’ll be humble and placating and take all of her corrections to heart. He’ll take whatever punishment she doles out so long as he’s able to keep his foot in the door. All he needs to maintain is a starting point, a stepping stone from which he can reach a handhold, a means through which he can work to rebuild his career and good standing. This job is all he knows. It’s all he has left.

Since he was twelve years old and watched, horrified, as the twin towers came down on 9/11, he’s wanted to help keep his country safe. It’s all he’s ever wanted, and he knows how to do it. This thing with Dean was messy and painful. Life, relationships...they’re all so complicated. There’s too much grey area, too many things that Cas can’t control. It was a harsh but necessary lesson in discovering that there are very few things of which he can take charge. But his own future is one of them.

He’s waiting outside Naomi’s office even before her receptionist gets there. When Naomi arrives, she looks unsurprised to see him, and neither her face nor her stride changes as she motions him to follow her inside.

He’s spent the last fifteen minutes slowing his breathing and reviewing his notes. He shoves his pad of paper back into his bag and gets to his feet.

Her office is a study in functionality. The desktop is clear of papers and clutter. Her computer is at perfect angles, her chair ergonomic. The art on the walls is innocuous. Geometric patterns that are pleasing to the eye and designed to fill the space. Her smooth leather chair is accented with shiny chrome and he knows the wheels beneath it wouldn’t dream of squeaking. It’s the sort of office he’d often aspired to and, when his co-workers had teased him about not even having a family photograph on his, he’d thought about how Naomi didn’t either. Her focus was impeccable, her control unwavering. He realized how lucky he’d been to have her as a mentor.

She stands behind her desk waiting for him to take a seat in a chair that is both eye-pleasing and uncomfortable. Cas places his bag on his lap like a security blanket and forces himself to maintain eye contact as she lowers herself gracefully into her chair. Resting her elbows on her desk, she steeples her fingers and leans forward to speak.

“I quit,” he says. In one quick motion he gets to his feet and unclips the ID badge from his lapel. He drops it on her desk and leaves.

  
*

Cas rests the shovel handle against his hip and reaches both arms overhead, stretching out the kinks in his shoulder blades. The mid-July sun blazes and he pulls up the hem of his t-shirt to mop his forehead with it. Since starting this job, he’s gotten appreciably stronger but there’s no doubt he still has a ways to go. He watches a hummingbird alight on the bee balm, and then he gets back to shoveling the compost.

The day he walked out of Naomi’s office was the most terrifying day of his life. He’d been lost, shaking with adrenaline, almost unable to recognize the familiar street outside the building. His brain had been buzzing, torn between running away and turning back, but he’d gritted his teeth and walked home, only belatedly remembering that he’d left his car there in the garage.

By the time he got to his apartment, he felt lighter and looser. He found himself giggling, albeit with a semi-hysterical edge, as he stood alone in his living room. Slowly, he turned in a circle as if seeing his surroundings for the very first time. He had no plan, no clue as to what came next.  

It felt incredible.

He spent the next few days alternating between relieved giddiness and regret-filled paralysis. Money wasn’t an issue, at least not right away. He’d worked steadily since he graduated and had never been frivolous, so his savings would last him for a good while, giving him the luxury of time as he decided his next step.

It had taken him nearly two weeks to tell his mother what he’d done. When he finally worked up the nerve, he called her mid-week, an event so aberrant that he had to assure her that nothing was wrong before he could haltingly update her. There was a long pause and he braced for a lecture, but her voice was surprisingly gentle when she next spoke.

“Castiel, are you happy?”

He didn’t even have to think before he answered. “For the first time in a long time, I am.”

“Then you’ll make it work.”

Unexpectedly, his eyes stung with tears and he had to swallow hard before he could continue the conversation.

He thought back to the last time he’d felt truly happy. A time when the future seemed to beckon him with possibility, a time when his head felt clear. He remembered that summer during college when he’d worked at the agriculture school. It was hard work, but he’d felt himself growing stronger both physically and mentally that summer.

He opened up his computer and found a local nursery that was hiring. The owner, Cain, had frowned at his resume as Cas tried to explain why he was leaving the career into which he’d invested so much time and effort to come work on these sprawling acres. But it turned out that Cain also had a story of transformation, of needing to simplify his life. He hinted at a loss he’d suffered and, in the same breath, gave Cas a chance.

Cas has gone from sitting all day under fluorescent lights to using his body in the sunshine and wind and rain. The work is physically taxing, lots of shoveling and pushing loaded wheelbarrows and hauling sacks of potting soil. But it also requires a delicate touch as he pinches back new growth and deadheads and thins the seedlings. Day after day he sees the literal fruit of his labors as the plants take root and flourish. In the nine weeks since he’s worked here, he’s learned enough to help customers find what they’re looking for and, as it turns out, his ever-present attention to detail has been perfect for learning plant names and the conditions under which they thrive. Some customers come in looking for a very specific genus, some want “something yellow for the front yard”, and he’s able to help them both. He likes watching the moms who let their children select a strawberry plant from a flat, the way the little ones crouch down to examine them carefully before choosing the best one. It turns out plants lead people to tell him stories. He’s heard about the wisteria blooming on a grandparent’s garden gate or the way the scent of stargazer lilies reminds a man of his wedding day. He remembers telling Dean that he worked with plants. It had been tossed out as a casual lie that day, one of too many to count, but as it turns out, at that moment he was unknowingly speaking his truth.

At the end of each day he’s sore and hungry and tired. His muscles ache in a way that pleases him and he’s bulked up to the point that he wonders if he could even fit into the button down shirts that have been shoved to the back of his closet. Most nights he comes home, eats, showers, and drops into bed almost too tired to think.

Almost.

He wonders how Dean is. He wonders if he’s recovered from his injuries, if the surgery to stabilize him worked. He didn’t realize how convenient it was to have so much access and information at his fingertips until it was gone. Now, he’s left to his own imagination, and it leads him down all sorts of winding paths. He spends a lot of time wondering what he’d do if he ran into Dean, but he’s made a deal with himself not to change his routes around town, nothing that would affect the likelihood of going anywhere Dean might or might not be. He wonders if Dean would even acknowledge him at all. Maybe he’d look right through him or maybe he’d react with anger. Hell, part of Cas hopes that Dean would at least be healthy enough to hit him.

He wonders, but he doesn’t regret. The choices Castiel made cost him dearly, but in his heart he knows that ultimately he did the right thing. He never would’ve been able to live with himself had something terrible happened to Dean. It was that realization that finally comforted him when it seemed nothing else would. Had he done nothing and Dean had died alone out there in the woods, his conscience never would have allowed him to continue working at the agency. Either way, this incident was a turning point for Cas, one that led him to rethink everything about his life. At least in this version Dean ended up with a fighting chance.

He reminds himself of that when he lies awake at night, remembering the way Dean’s face had gone hard with anger. How he’d turned away and rightfully banished Cas from his room and his life.

Today, though, the sun is beating down and he concerns himself with moving the pots of chrysanthemums to create a central display for fall planting. As the peak of summer passes, the annuals will give way to cool-season vegetables and, before long, everything will be a riot of cornstalks and pumpkins and hay bales. Cain is at the register with a silver-haired woman who keeps adding “just one more” plant to her pile. “Sometimes I’ll hide them behind the garage and bring them out over the course of a couple of days,” she says, smiling conspiratorially. “My daughter says I have a problem.”

Cain laughs. “Your secret is safe with me.”

Cas wheels his now-empty cart back around the building as a car crunches up the gravel driveway. He loads it with more pots and wheels it back toward the display. He’s got the cart partway unloaded when his work is interrupted.

“Excuse me.”

“How can I help you?” Cas wipes his hands on his jeans and turns around and this….this is not how it was supposed to happen. Maybe walking through the park, maybe across the parking lot at the grocery store. But Dean Winchester was never, in any of Cas’s wildest dreams, going to show up here. He’s too stunned to say anything and, when he realizes he’s standing there staring, he closes his mouth with an audible click.

Dean looks good, he thinks stupidly. Like he could possibly look any other way. He looks thin, and maybe a little pale, like he hasn’t spent much time out in the summer sun. The expression on his face is so neutral that Cas thinks maybe this was all an accident and Dean’s as surprised to see him as he is to find him standing there.

It’s only then that he notices Dean is using crutches. The shorter kind with the cuffs that go around his forearms.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” Cas repeats. None of this makes any sense and Cas can’t help but ask, “What are you doing here?”

Leaning on his crutches, Dean lets go of one handgrip to gesture towards the display of potted plants laid out on the ground. “Thinking of doing some landscaping.”

“Oh.” Even though Cas knows it’s the only logical explanation, he feels a heaviness in his chest. “I can get someone else for you--”

“Castiel,” Dean says, with a hint of impatience. “I’m here to see you.”

“Oh.” Cas says again because he’s clever that way. “Ok.”

“New job, huh? Or are you undercover?”

Cas flushes. “I quit the agency.”

Dean cocks an eyebrow. “You didn’t get fired?”

“I quit before they could.”

“I guess you didn’t need a reference from them to get this job.”

Cas lets out an undignified snort at that and Dean gives him a half-smile. “Luckily, no.”

“So, look,” Dean begins, his fingers twitching a little as he gathers his words. “I know I was pretty shitty to you at the hospital…”

Cas holds up a hand. “With good reason. In fact you were kinder to me than I deserved.” He should shut up and listen but he can’t seem to stop himself. “What I did to you was unconscionable and you had every reason to be angry and—”

“You’ll get no arguments from me on that.” That’s enough to get Cas to keep his damn mouth shut. “But here’s the thing. I was pissed for a long time. Pissed because you lied to me. Pissed because you cut me out. For a while I was pissed because I decided it was your fault I was out in the woods in the first place.”

Lowering his eyes, Cas nods at the truth in this.

“I laid in the hospital recovering from surgery and I went through weeks and weeks of physical therapy and it was hard and I was angry and I decided it was all your fault. I swore at you a lot,” he says. “If you felt your ears burning, that was me cursing your name.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean. I know it doesn’t make up for any of it, but I never meant for things to get so out of hand.”

There’s a long silence before Dean speaks again.

“Somewhere along the way, maybe when I was doing my one millionth leg lift, I realized I was mostly pissed because I _liked_ you.” Cas swallows hard, unsure of how to respond to that, even as something a lot like hope flickers in his chest. “I convinced myself that all of it was a lie. That basically you’d catfished me or something…but the truth of the matter is that you saved my life. The doctors said that if I’d been out there even a few more hours, I could’ve died. I was going into shock, my kidneys were at risk. No matter how we got to that place, you saved my life.” He looks Cas over, taking in the sweat-stained t-shirt and the dirt all over his hands. “It looks like we both suffered some consequences.”  

Cas nods toward the crutches “Are you…”

“I’m doing ok. Still recovering, but I’m getting there.”

“Again, I can’t apologize enough.”

Dean shakes his head. “That’s not why I’m here. I can’t work yet and the truth is I’m bored out of my mind. And as I see it, I’m in your debt. So to even things out, I thought you could take me to dinner sometime.”

Cas starts to speak, then stops again. “That’s...not how debts work.”

Dean smiles at him. “So, is that a yes?”

The smile is a surprise, but a welcome one at that. Still, Cas can’t be sure where they stand. “If you’re sure that’s what you want.”

“I am. There’s just one other thing.”

“Of course. Anything.”

“Could you unblock me?”

Cas pats all his pockets, scrambling to find his phone. When he does he pulls it out and steps closer to Dean to show him. “I’ve...actually had you unblocked for awhile.”

“Cool. Ok, well, text me then.”

“I will,” Cas promises, nodding his head rapidly, like a chicken pecking for seed. “Hey, Dean?”

“Yes?”

“How did you find me?”

“You’re not the only cyber sleuth I know.” He turns to look over his shoulder and Cas sees a woman casually looking at a hanging basket of leggy petunias. She’s wearing oversized sunglasses and her bright red hair is tucked up under a broad-brimmed hat.

“Charlie,” Cas says, mostly to himself.

“You know her?” Dean says, as it dawns on him. “Oh shit, I should’ve guessed.”

Cas watches as Dean walks toward her. His gait is a little stiff, but he seems to be using the crutches as a steadying force, not as a source of support. He and Charlie speak for a moment before they both continue towards the parking lot. Charlie lets Dean move ahead of her and then she turns and points two fingers at Cas, then back at her eyes. _I’m watching you._

Cas makes a mental note to double check the tape he’s put over his webcam.


	11. Chapter 11

Cas texts Dean, although he spends forty-five minutes that night trying to decide what to say. Then another five staring at what he’s written before hitting send.

**Looking forward to dinner.**

He doesn’t hear anything back that night, but considering he wasted nearly an entire hour on one message, maybe that’s not so surprising. There’s no response in the morning, either, and Cas moves right into convincing himself that Dean showing up and acting like he wanted to go to dinner was all an elaborate _fuck you_. Probably it was a two can play at this game sort of thing, and there was no doubt he deserved it. But by mid-afternoon, just as he’s returning home from work, his phone chimes.

_Same. Let’s do Stanley’s tomorrow at 7._

Cas knows the restaurant, although he hasn’t been there before. It’s rather close to Dean’s apartment and a fairly casual establishment. Cas goes back in forth in his mind as to what this means. Dean could pick any place, let Cas spend lots of money on this dinner, but he’s chosen something informal and close to home. Cas does his best to temper his expectations, because it’s just a dinner, but the thought of being able to spend time with Dean openly and honestly has him bubbling with happy anticipation. No overthinking his every word, no panicked blaring in his brain about what he _should_ be doing. Just two people, having dinner and working to get to know each other better.

For once, he’s actually pleased with what he sees in the mirror. The work at the nursery has done him good, he’s tanned and healthy-looking. The shirt he finally decides on clings to his newly bulked-up muscles. He fusses with his hair for one last moment and then he makes his way to the restaurant.

Nerves have him arriving ten minutes early and he’s not sure whether to go in and get a table or wait outside. He’s been hovering around the entrance for awhile, trying to look like he knows what he’s doing, when the front door opens and an employee of the restaurant pokes her head out.

“Are you here to meet Dean?”

Cas snaps his head up from where he’s re-reading their few texts on his phone. “Yes?”

“He’s already inside.”

Cas feels a shimmer of sweat begin on his upper lip. “Thank you, I didn’t realize.” _You can find him in the middle of a forest, but never thought to look inside a restaurant to see if he’s already there._

Inside, she points to a booth, one that definitely has a view of the sidewalk outside. Cas thanks her and walks toward it. Dean is looking at his phone, a soda already on the table in front of him. He doesn’t look up until Cas greets him.

“Finally decided to come in out of the heat?”

Cas tries to laugh it off. “I was waiting for you but...can I sit down?”

“Sure, sure.” Dean waves magnanimously at the other side of the booth.

He’s barely settled into his seat when the server arrives to hand out menus and take a drink order from Cas. Dean leaves his menu closed, so Cas follows suit.

“How are you feeling today?” Cas asks to break the silence once they’re alone again.

Dean shrugs. “Same as every day. Can’t drink, can’t drive, can’t have sex, so…”

Cas isn’t sure what to say to that. It seems strange that Dean would mention sex on what may or may not be a first date, but maybe he’s making sure Cas has no illusions. The return of the server with his iced tea saves him from answering.

“You want your usual, Dean?” She smiles at him fondly.

“You know it. I could eat a horse.”

They both look at Cas who scrambles to open his menu. There are a lot of pages. Breakfast all day, sandwiches, dinner specials. “Uh…” he says, as he flips through them.

“Gonna need a minute, hon?”

“Yes, please,” he says gratefully.

Dean watches him in silence as he goes through page by page. “Anything you’d recommend?” Cas finally asks.

Dean thinks for a moment. “Everything here is good.”

When the server returns, Cas’s mind goes blank and he chooses the first sandwich on the list. Hopefully, when the food arrives, he’ll have something to do with his hands and things will relax. As it is, he takes extra time fidgeting with the paper wrapper on his straw. He’s wracking his mind for something to say when Dean leans forward, resting his elbows on the table.

“So, let’s get to know you.”

Cas takes a swallow of tea. “All right.”

“Where did you grow up?”

“Outside St. Louis. My mother still lives there.”

“Siblings?”

“Three older brothers. We’re not close like you and—”

“Where’d you go to school?”

“I went to Washington University in St. Louis for undergrad and then to the University of Michigan for graduate school. Have you ever been—”

When Dean cuts off his attempt to make conversation again, this whole evening begins to make sense. Dean’s chosen a restaurant that is clearly an extension of his home base, and he’s grilling Cas like the onions on his burger as he tries to take some control of a situation that has up until now been so one-sided. Understanding what’s going on doesn’t make Cas feel any better. In fact, it leaves him with a sinking feeling, and he can feel himself closing off even as he continues to provide Dean with factual answers. Dean is getting to know him like it’s a job interview and suddenly Cas isn’t sure he wants to get hired.

His chicken sandwich tastes like ashes.

When the server comes to clear their plates, she again addresses Dean. “Save room for dessert? We’ve got your favorite deep dish apple pie today!”

Dean looks at Cas, one eyebrow raised questioningly, and Cas is sure this is a test. “Sure, that sounds good.”

“Nothing for me, thanks.” Dean says.

So now Cas is left with a huge slice of pie and Dean watching him as he eats it. No matter how many times Cas offers, Dean refuses to have any, so Cas swallows down as much as he can, ready for this disaster of a dinner to be done. Blessedly, the check arrives soon afterwards.

Cas wants to flee, to go back to the quiet confines of his apartment where he can lick his wounds in peace, but he waits, holding the door open for Dean as they leave. Walking seems more difficult for him after sitting for so long. He leans more heavily on the crutches, almost shuffling, and there’s a pained tightness around his eyes. Once they’re outside, Cas can finally breathe more easily. The evening is nearly done, and he takes a few steps toward his car parked in the lot. He’s all set to bid Dean a terse goodbye, but after watching him move with difficulty across the sidewalk, he instead says, “Can I give you a ride home?”

Leaning one crutch against his body, Dean lifts a hand to rub it across his face. When he drops his hand, he looks at Cas with an openness that hasn’t been there all evening. “Yeah, ok.”

Neither of them pretend that Cas needs directions, and they ride without speaking until Cas pulls into the lot of the apartment building.

“Look,” Dean says, “I’m sorry about that.”

Cas waves a forgiving hand. “If anyone should be apologizing, it’s me.”

“It’s fucked up that you know so much about me. I don’t know how to act around you.”

“I understand.”

“I thought this would help, but I just feel worse.”

Twisting his hands in his lap, Cas nods.

“Why did you follow me to the Roadhouse that night?”

Cas takes a deep breath to gather his thoughts before he answers. “I knew how much that car meant to you. And I knew how much you had riding on that visit from your father. When I saw him take your keys—”

“You saw him do that?”

“The keys and your wallet were right in front of your computer.”

Dean nods, then sighs. “There’s no way that was an accident, huh?”

Cas shakes his head. “No.” They sit for a long silent moment. “I knew how upset you must be and I got worried. I wasn’t supposed to get worried. I was supposed to”—and here he makes air quotes—”’observe and report’ but you stopped communicating with people and I needed to see for myself that you were all right. When you told Charlie where you were going and that you were going to drink the whole thing away, I thought maybe I could lurk somewhere in the background and keep an eye on things. And then the minute I walked in...”

Dean actually laughs at that. “Not exactly subtle.”

“Perhaps I should have left immediately.”

“I was so glad to see you,” Dean says softly.

“I in no way meant to prey on your emotions, and I had a thousand chances to leave and put an end to that evening…”

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t,” Cas agrees. It’s a relief to get this off his chest, even now when it’s clear that it’s far too late to undo the damage. Despite his many missteps, at least Dean knows that his presence wasn’t some cold, calculating maneuver. As they sit, a car pulls into the spot next to them and Dean stays silent until the car has emptied again.

“So, where does that leave us?”

Cas frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Can we try this again?”

“You’d want to?”

“Like, what if we tried some sort of neutral ground, some place neither of us has ever been.”

Cas can’t stop himself from grinning. “I’d like that.”

*

There’s a park Cas remembers Inias talking about, one on the outskirts of town near the river where he and his wife liked to push the baby in the stroller. He’s never visited it and, after confirming Dean hasn’t either, Cas plans a picnic for them. He’s tempted to spend hours online studying and adapting perfect picnic menus, but instead he waits until the morning of and stops by the deli in his neighborhood to pick out an assortment of whatever strikes his fancy. He makes one more quick stop and then he’s back in the parking lot of Dean’s building waiting for him to emerge.

Cas makes a drive-by reconnaissance of the park after work one day to ensure getting to the picnic area won’t require too much walking. Then he worries that might impact the “neutral ground” clause and confesses it to Dean, who sends a laughing emoji before absolving him.

The day of the picnic is beautiful, sunny but with a light breeze keeping the heat from becoming oppressive. Another week has passed and, as Dean comes out of his building, Cas can see the improvement in his walking. Today, he’s no longer relying on crutches, instead using a silver cane, the type with a pronged base.

Dean’s in a t-shirt and jeans, so few layers that Cas is nearly taken by surprise. He’s wearing sunglasses, but as soon as he approaches the car, he pushes them up on his head to greet Cas. He looks relaxed and almost a little bit shy as he settles himself and his cane in the passenger seat.

They’ve been texting this week. Nothing too intense, but on and off throughout most days. It’s been regular enough that Cas can reply to a text in a matter of minutes and, if it turns out he didn’t say exactly what he meant, he can send a second text to clarify without too much overthinking. They’ve reached a point where they can even sometimes joke about things Cas thought they might never address.

**Did you monitor those red light cameras?**

_Not personally_

**_I like to flip them off_ **

_I’m contacting the proper authorities right now_

**I knew you were a narc**

It’s delicate and new and Cas spends more time re-reading their texts than he would ever admit, but it’s _something_. And it’s something that seems to be moving in the right direction. Cas doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve yet another chance, but as long as Dean is willing to extend that olive branch, Cas will grasp it and try not to hold on too tightly. Driving to the park, Cas already feels more relaxed than he did at any time during their last “date”. He turns over control of the car radio to Dean who, after shuddering in mock horror at his presets, finds a classic rock station.

When the opening chords to Ramble On begin, Cas taps his fingers on the steering wheel along to the beat.

“You know this one? Maybe there’s hope for you yet.” Cas glances over at him but doesn’t say a word. “Wait, are you serious?”

“You played it a lot.”

“Damn right I did. Because it’s awesome.” He cranks the volume up and begins to sing along, and for the first time in his life Cas wants to drive forever. He wants to find an open stretch of highway somewhere and drive and drive with no destination, just Dean by his side. “Oh,” he says, as the song fades out.

Dean turns the volume back down. “What?”

He answers without thinking. “I wish I would have had the chance to ride in your Impala.”

“You will,” Dean promises. “I’ll get her back.”

Cas turns off the road at the park entrance and they follow signs for the picnic area, driving past the playground and the basketball court. The park is full of people taking advantage of the warm, perfect day and the playground is teeming with kids running, swinging, and sliding. Nearby, a little league field sits empty save for a dad tossing balls for his young daughter to hit. They wind slowly around until a series of picnic tables comes into view, spaced out across a wide grassy area overlooking the river. They choose an empty table and Cas, carrying the food and a blanket, has to slow his pace so as not to get too far ahead of Dean and his cane. He’s not sure if Dean will be more comfortable sitting on the hard, wooden bench at the picnic table or if the ground would be easier, so he spreads out the blanket next to the table and waits for Dean to choose. He looks between them thoughtfully for a moment before deciding on the picnic table. With that decided, Cas starts to set out the food as Dean folds himself gingerly onto the bench. Cas wants to ask if he’s sure he’s ok there, but he remembers an earlier text with Dean complaining about Sam hovering, and keeps it to himself.

“Damn,” Dean says softly. Cas looks up in alarm from where he’s sorting out silverware for each of them, but Dean is pulling the container of orzo salad over to examine it more closely. “This looks good.”

“I had to guess at what you’d like,” he says, but Dean raises his eyebrows at that. Ok, fine. Cas knows he likes burgers and lasagna. He knows what brand of beer he likes and how he takes his coffee. He’s seen him with a huge bowl of cereal propped on his chest as he watches videos on his laptop. “For a picnic,” he clarifies.

Luckily, Dean smiles. “Well, I’ve never had this before so I can’t say. But I guess we’ll find out. Uh, how hungry do you think I am?”

Cas sheepishly pulls the last two containers out of the cooler. “I made a lot of guesses. But I’m pretty sure I covered my bases with this.” He slides the slice of the deep dish apple pie toward Dean.

“I knew you’d be a convert,” Dean says brightly. “There’s no resisting.”

“Actually, I got myself a slice of cherry. I don’t even like apple all that much.”

Scooping some orzo salad onto his plate, Dean says, “You ate it anyhow.”

Cas opens a soda and passes it to him. “It seemed like the thing to do at the time.”

It’s pleasant to sit here in the sun with the breeze coming off the water. Most of their conversation is about the food, but that’s ok.

Dean tries a little of everything Cas brought, and Cas finds himself holding his breath, waiting for Dean’s reactions. He pronounces everything good except for the marinated vegetables and pushes his plate across the table so that Cas can have them. There’s something unexpectedly intimate about eating off of Dean’s plate and, by the way Dean is watching him eat, he thinks Dean might be feeling it too.

“Ready for pie?”

Instead of answering, Dean leans forward, imbuing his next words with importance. “There’s one very vital thing I learned from my near death experience.” Cas swallows hard, unsure where this is going. “It’s _always_ time for pie.”

Cas nods in solemn agreement. “That sounds like excellent prioritizing.” Dean shifts a little bit on the bench. “Want to try the blanket?” Dean chews his lip for a moment, considering, and Cas tries to minimize his discomfort. “Only if you’ll be more comfortable. I can help you get up and down, if you need it.”

“Let’s do pie first,” he decides, and Cas berates himself. Of course it’ll be easier to eat at the table.

Dean tucks into his slice like he hasn’t eaten in a week and Cas barely contains his grin. It loosens him up enough to say, “Wow, you really showed me by not having any at the diner.”

“Shut up. I thought I was making a point but it turns out the point was that I’m an idiot.”

Cas opens up his slice of cherry pie and takes a forkful. “I think they can do no wrong where pie is concerned.”

“It’s good?”

“Extremely.” And it is. Not too sweet and nestled in a rich, flaky crust. He eats a few more bites before he realizes Dean is watching him. Immediately, Cas wipes at his face. “Did I get some on me?”

“Cas,” Dean says, looking suddenly solemn. “You know I almost died, right?” He looks meaningfully down at Cas’s pie.

“Does this generally work for you?” But there’s nothing Cas can do when Dean looks fetchingly up at him through his lashes. He sighs and pushes the cherry pie across the table. “Fine.”

“I’ve got to rebuild my strength,” he says through a mouthful. “Doctor’s orders.”

“Your doctor told you to eat my pie?”

“Maybe not in those exact words.”

Cas reaches over to nab one last bite before relocating to the blanket. Leaning back, he props himself up on his elbows, tipping his head back to let the sun shine on his face. When he hears Dean stirring from the bench, he resists the urge to open his eyes, trusting that Dean will ask for help if he needs it. From the soft grunts, It sounds like it’s requiring some effort on Dean’s part but when Cas chances a look, he’s sitting on the blanket, still upright, but with his legs stretched out in front of him. Cas lets his gaze fall on the river, visible through the trees lining its bank. He can hear the happy shouts of children in the distance and the incessant bouncing of a basketball. A couple of bees buzz nearby, completely enraptured by a flowering lavender.

He’s full and the sunshine is making him sleepy. It’s nice to have Dean beside him, comfortable to be side by side without having to talk. Cas lies flat on his back and Dean swivels his head to look at him. Lifting a hand to keep the sun from his eyes, Cas sees that Dean’s mouth is held in a tight line.

“Is this—”

“I’m fine,” he insists, cutting Cas off. As Cas watches, he takes a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds before slowly letting it out. Then he leans back on his elbows like Cas was just a moment before. Cas notices Dean keeps his right leg slightly bent which must be more comfortable on his healing bones. The set of his shoulders is tense, but Cas knows better than to ask again. Instead he tries to distract him a little.

“It’s nice here, isn’t it? I’m glad I had a reason to check it out. It’s a little out of the way, but the breeze from the water makes it worth the drive.”

“Mmm,” Dean says, more of an acknowledgement than an agreement. He’s staring straight ahead as Cas talks, but slowly lowering himself down to a lying position. From the set of his jaw, it’s painful, and Cas doesn’t know what else to do but keep talking.

“The Andromeda grow so beautifully here. They don’t like too much sun and the trees filter just enough of it out so that they—”

Dean shifts up off the blanket, rolling onto his side to face Cas before scrabbling onto his hands and knees. “I need to go.” Before Cas can respond, Dean crawls closer to the picnic table so that he can use the wooden bench to leverage himself up. Cas is at his side in an instant, reaching for his arm. Dean shakes him off, pitching forward and nearly losing his balance as he bends for his cane. “Can we go?”

Cas stands there blinking for a moment. “Of course.” He picks up the blanket, gathering it into a bundle instead of taking the time to fold it. He clutches it to his chest with one hand while he gathers up the empty pie containers and takes them to the trash can. By the time he returns to the table, Dean is halfway to the car. His limp doesn’t seem any more pronounced, but as Cas catches up to him, he sees the white-knuckled grip he has on his cane. Cas opens the car door for him, then spends a few moments putting everything else in the trunk, giving Dean the chance to get settled in his seat before Cas joins him in the car.

He closes the trunk gently and moves around to the driver’s door. By the time he gets in, Dean is sitting stock still, staring straight ahead, his hands in fists. Cas doesn’t know what’s happened, clearly he’s done something wrong but he doesn’t know what. “Dean,” he begins, with no real idea of what to say next.

Dean doesn’t react, it’s like he’s somewhere far off where he can’t even hear Cas’s voice. Cas repeats his name, but all Dean does is shake his head so slightly that Cas almost misses it. His jaw is clenched and he’s gone pale and a little bit sweaty. It occurs to Cas that maybe he’s going to be sick. “Do you need—”

“I’m fine,” Dean says between gritted teeth.

“You’re not,” Cas says. He hadn’t meant for it to come out, but it’s so obviously the truth. “I’m not sure what’s happened but if you want to talk about it—”

“You think you know me so well,” Dean says bitterly. “If that were true, you’d know that’s the last thing I want.”

The accusation hits Cas as hard as a physical blow, and he stares down at the car keys in his hands, trying to figure out how to respond. He can’t come up with anything other than, “All right. I’ll take you home.” He puts the key into the ignition but before he can turn it, Dean slumps forward, both hands pressed to his face.

“I thought I could do it. I thought I could do it, but I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t.”

This change is so sudden that Cas reaches a hand toward him, but he’s not sure what Dean will tolerate right now, so he lets it hover in the air before withdrawing it. Dean’s breathing faster and faster, but he still has his hands pressed to his face, which can’t be helping matters. “It’s ok.”

“It’s not ok,” Dean says forcefully, shaking his head. “It’s not.”

“Can you tell me what it is you couldn’t do?” Cas feels like he’s three steps behind, hurrying to catch up, but at least Dean is talking now. In fact, now that the dam has broken, the words tumble out of him.

“I have nightmares. I dream that I’m still there. Pinned and trapped. I wake up and it feels like I’m having a heart attack. I can’t breathe and my chest hurts and it feels so _real_ , even when I know I’m in my room.”

“What you went through was incredibly traumatic. It doesn’t just go away because you were rescued.”

“I yelled until my throat was raw. I yelled and I yelled and no one heard me. I tried so hard to get free and I couldn’t. My hands were bloody from trying to claw myself free. I tried everything and nothing helped.” He lets his hands drop only to twist in his lap.

“There was nothing you could do, Dean. There was no way you could move that tree.”

“I knew what was going to happen a split second before it did. I had the wedge cut and it was ready to fall and then the top got caught on another tree. I walked around the trunk to get a better look and the whole thing came down. I knew it was coming down and I froze. I couldn’t move. If I’d just jumped out of the way...”

“Can I touch you?” Dean looks at him like he’s crazy, but he gives the smallest of nods and Cas lays a hand on his forearm. Without even trying he can feel Dean’s pulse racing. “It was an accident.”

“I know, I know it was, but I should’ve been smarter than that. I should’ve done more. I should’ve…”

“You did everything you could.” Dean moves his hand and Cas thinks he’s going to pull away but then Dean’s hand is in his, sweaty palm gripping him tightly. “Have you talked to anybody about this?”

Dean shakes his head. “Sam was so worried, I don’t want to bother him with this. I know I could tell Charlie, but...you’re the one who was there. You saw how it was. You know there was nothing I could do, right?”

It’s hot inside the car and Cas feels sweat run down between his shoulder blades. “I saw. It was awful. There was nothing you could’ve done. Nothing.”

Still gripping Cas’s hand, Dean turns to look out his window. “I yelled for as long as I could and then I screamed. I fucking lost it and I panicked and I screamed and I cried. I thought I was going to die there.”

Cas swallows down the guilt that seems to churn perpetually in his gut over having left Dean there, helpless and injured for hours upon hours. But this isn’t about him. “Anybody would have,” he assures him, imagining how it felt to see no one there, to have absolutely no reason to think anyone would be coming. “It must have been terrifying.”

Dean lets out a small snort that’s much too hard-edged to be called amusement. “You’d be surprised how early in the process you piss yourself.”

There’s nothing to say to that, so Cas just tightens his grip a little on Dean’s hand. It’s fast becoming swelteringly hot in the car but he doesn’t want to let go even for the time it would take to start up the engine and get the air conditioning running. Even opening a window feels like letting the world in, and Dean seems to feel safer here inside this bubble.

“Dean.”

Dean’s shoulders drop a little and he slowly turns until he’s looking at Cas. Cas can see the sheen of sweat on his forehead and the new freckles from even that short time in the sun. His eyes are so weary, not filled with tears, but there’s a depth of sadness in them, a resignation like he’s expecting Cas to lecture him.

Cas wants to tell Dean how strong he is, how he’s survived adversity time and again, always finding his way back to the surface. He wants to tell him that his resilience is one of the first things Cas admired about him, from learning his story and seeing how he nonetheless continued to greet the world with an open heart. Cas wants to tell him how much he’s learned from Dean already, and how knowing him in even such an unorthodox way has changed his life. Cas is braver now, more honest with himself. His life has taken a huge turn, but these choices are ones that he’s making for himself maybe for the very first time. He doesn’t know how to say any of that, though, and while he’s trying to find the words, Dean’s phone rings.

 _Smoke on the Water_ , Cas thinks as Dean digs the phone out of his pocket. He checks the screen then frowns and lets go of Cas’s hand while he answers it.

“Hey, Sam.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m fine. What’s up?”

Just like that, the moment is gone. Dean sits up a little straighter and the open, vulnerable look vanishes. His words seem a little clipped but apparently not enough that his brother notices anything is off.

Cas gets out his keys and catches Dean’s eye, waiting for him to nod his ok before starting up the car so that he can open the windows and get some air moving. His hand is damp with sweat but he makes no move to wipe it off on his shorts.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just reschedule,” Dean is saying into the phone. His voice is light but he’s let his head slump back against the headrest. “It’s not a big deal at all.” There’s a pause as he listens. “It’s fine, I can miss one if I have to. Don’t you dare mess with your interview on account of me. Look, I gotta go. I’ll be home pretty soon.”

Taking that as a hint that they’re done here, Cas starts the car all the way while Dean ends the call. “Everything ok?”

“Yeah. I gotta reschedule my PT on Monday because Sam can’t drive me. God, even driving that shit car will be a step up from needing a fucking chauffeur all the time.”

“How much longer until you’re allowed to drive?”

“I ask every time and every time they say ‘soon’ so who knows what that means.”

“What time is your appointment?”

Dean shakes his head “You don’t have—“

“What time?”

“Four-thirty.”

Cas has never been so glad to be out of the nine to five grind. “What time should I pick you up?”

Dean rolls his eyes but he’s smiling. “Ten after should do it.”

“I’ll be there.”

As Dean reaches for the knob to turn the radio back on, Cas hears him mutter, “You always seem to be.”


	12. Chapter 12

When Cas picks Dean up, he comes out dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants with tennis shoes replacing his usual work boots. He’s handsome as ever, but he doesn’t look like himself. The sweats are a little big on him and he has to tug them up with his free hand. Once he gets in the car, wrangling his cane as well, he gives Cas directions to the rehab center.

“Good day at work?”

Cas glances down at his dirty jeans. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to change first.”

Dean waves a dismissive hand. “Please. You’re doing me a huge favor.”

Cas asks about Sam’s interview, which seems to be the right move because Dean talks about his brother in glowing terms for much of the ride.

“He’s lucky he had you to support him growing up,” he ventures, since Dean mentioned having to be the bad guy who made sure Sam had his homework done each evening.

“He’s so smart, he would’ve been fine either way.”

“Maybe. But having someone there to keep you on track goes a long way.”

“I guess,” Dean says, shrugging.

Cas wants to elaborate, but it’s hard to know what he’s learned from studying Dean’s file and what he’s heard Dean say, so he doesn’t tell him how impressive it is that he was both parent and brother, or how obvious it is that at some level he sacrificed his own future to make sure Sam had a path to college. He thinks of the way Dean is so unassuming most of the time, how he seems content with what he has, happy to do work that he enjoys and be around the people he cares for. Cas spent so much time feeling bitter about his demotion, so determined to prove his worth that he almost missed out on the friendship that Gabe held out to him. Cas was so certain about what he wanted, convinced his job could define him in ways nothing else could, but from the moment he left his badge on Naomi’s desk, he’d never felt more like himself.

Cas pulls into the rehab facility, stopping the car outside the front entrance. “What time should I—,” he begins as Dean unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door.

“There’s a waiting room. Coffee and a tv, the whole nine yards.”

“Oh.” Cas hadn’t considered coming in. “I can do that.”

With Dean safely out, Cas parks in the lot and meets him inside by the elevator. Once they arrive on the second floor, Dean leads him down the hall into a waiting area with a reception desk. The woman sitting there greets him with a big smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean cocks his head toward the door. “Is she ready to terrorize me?”

“Always.”

He turns to Cas. “Heading off to battle. See you in forty-five.”

Cas doesn’t mean to sit where he can watch, but there are a couple of large windows looking into the physical therapy room. From what he can see, there are small, curtained off areas for private consultations, plus a large, central space full of equipment that can be used by a variety of people. Dean disappears behind the curtain with a dark-haired woman to begin with, but two other patients are currently in the main area. Both are senior citizens. A woman is walking very slowly on a treadmill while a therapist stands close by. Another therapist helps to stabilize a man in a wheelchair as he uses a set of parallel bars to pull himself up to a standing position. They both look rather frail but, while Cas can’t hear what is being said, he can see the determined look on the man’s face as well as the calm way the physical therapist seems to be encouraging him. The equipment ranges from the type of machines you’d find in any gym, to exercise balls and bands, to a pile of wedges and other supports. Cas spends about ten minutes thumbing through a magazine without really reading any of it until Dean comes out into the main area with his therapist in tow. Cas can’t take his eyes off him, noting the way he greets the woman, who is now standing on a mat and holding a ball, twisting her torso from side to side. As he passes the man in the wheelchair, he holds out his hand for Dean to high-five.

Dean starts out on a leg lift machine, the kind where the weights can be adjusted. The therapist places a small amount of weight on it, a laughable amount, Cas thinks, if he were to see Dean at the gym. It’s not much at all and still Dean can barely lift it, grunting with exertion as the repetitions add up. There are exercises meant to strengthen his glutes and quadriceps, and he spends time on the floor trying to bridge his hips upward, even as his weakened pelvis resists him. His face contorts with effort but still he only manages to lift it a few inches off the ground. Cas finds himself starting to sweat a bit from watching Dean struggle.

Dean was a strong and healthy man, able to go to his job where he bent over engines and climbed under cars. He was healthy and intact and not reliant on other people to take him places. Cas has no idea what sort of insurance Dean has, but no doubt his hospitalization and ongoing medical care is bound to wipe out any savings he had. All of this could have been avoided if Cas had been able to do his job properly. Nearly everything Dean has endured lately—with exception of his car being taken—is completely due to Cas’s incompetence. Hell, he couldn't even take Dean on a picnic without causing him to have a panic attack. He could drive Dean to a thousand PT appointments and still not even begin to make it up to him. 

As the appointment goes on, Dean begins to tire and his frustration builds. At one point, he lets out a loud curse word, then pushes up on his elbows to apologize to the older woman, who laughs at him. By the time he comes back out, his face is red, his hair is dark with sweat, and Cas has worked himself into a ball of guilt.

Despite his outward appearance, Dean seems chipper. He confirms his next appointment and Cas hurries to his feet to open the door for him.

“I think she hates me,” he says cheerfully.

“That looked...intense.”

“Yeah, but that’s nothing compared to what they did when I was still in the hospital. I thought they’d let me rest and heal but hell, even right after the surgery, they had people coming in to move my legs around.” The thought is unimaginably painful, and Cas’s gut tightens. He didn’t drop the tree on Dean personally but he might as well have. “Hey, there’s a coffee shop on the first floor, can I buy you something as a thank you?”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Suit yourself. I’m dying of thirst here.”

Cas waits, again refusing Dean’s offer, while Dean gets himself a lemonade. It looks icy and delicious and certainly more than Cas deserves. Dean seems tired on the way home, content to sit quietly and sip his drink as Cas drives back to his apartment building.

“Look, I’m—” Cas begins as he pulls into a parking spot to let Dean out.

But Dean interrupts him, looking across the lot where his loaner car is now parked. “Sam’s home. You should come up and say hi. He’d love to see you.” He looks at Cas expectantly, then his face drops. “What’s wrong?”

And because they can apparently only have meaningful conversations in parked cars, Cas tells him. “Why would Sam want to see me? Why do _you_ want to see me? Everything you’re dealing with right now...the pain, the recovery, it’s all because of me. I’ve disrupted your life, your livelihood, everything. I’m so sorry for all of it and—”

Dean kisses him.

It’s so unexpected that Cas doesn’t know what to do and he stays motionless as he feels the press of Dean’s mouth against his. It isn’t until Dean starts to pull away that Cas leans in and kisses him back.

When they pull apart, Dean smiles at him. “For someone so smart, you’re a goddamn idiot.”

Cas has his fingertips pressed to his own lips like he can keep the sensation there if he just holds it in. “I don’t understand why you’re not mad.”

“You saved my life. Plain and simple. I would have died there without you and yes, I was mad about the lies but you know what? It turns out that when you come that close to dying, you get a hell of a shift in perspective. I was upset about that car. Hell, I’m _still_ upset about it because I love that fucking car, but you know what? It’s just a car.” He reaches a hand to Cas’s face, gently cupping his cheek. “I’m alive. I’m lucky that I’m here to do all the work to get better, I’m lucky that you cared enough to risk your job and come looking for me. A lot of things led me to where I was, but only you got me out again.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas whispers.

“Are you sorry I kissed you?”

Cas shakes his head, Dean’s palm warm against his skin.

“Good, ‘cause I’m gonna do it again.”

This time Cas is ready and he kisses him back, tentatively at first. The seatbelt is in his way but he doesn’t want to stop kissing Dean to get it unbuckled so he lets it dig into his shoulder as he tries to get closer. With his hands fisted in Dean’s shirt, the wet slide of his mouth feels like forgiveness, and Cas lets the weight of his guilt lift off him. It’s such a relief that when a car door slams and startles them into pulling apart, Cas feels himself grinning.

Dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “You’ll come up?”

Nodding, Cas unfastens his seatbelt and gets out of the car.

It’s strange to be in Dean’s apartment. He’s had a couple of very specific vantage points like from the desk in Dean’s room or the living room couch, but he realizes now that the layout he’d created in his head based on those views was far from accurate. There’s not too much time to look around though because Dean starts bellowing for his brother as soon as they come in the door. In response to his calls, Sam comes rushing into the living room.

“Dean, what is it?” He pulls up short when he sees Cas, then glares at Dean. “I thought you needed help.”

“Nah, just letting you know I’m home.”

Sam rolls his eyes before greeting Cas. “Hi, Cas. How are you? Thanks for driving Dean today.”

“I’m fine, thank you. I hope your interview went well.”

“Thank you for asking,” Sam says pointedly.

“I was getting ready to ask him that,” Dean mutters.

Cas smiles at him and shrugs.

“I think it went ok. They want to check my references so i guess that’s a good sign.”

“I should think so,” Cas agrees.

“If they don’t hire you, I’ll go down there myself and kick their asses.”

“Good luck with that, you’ve only got one good leg.”

“I’ll have you know I managed three sets on the Torturator 2000 today.”

All pretense falls away and Sam looks genuinely pleased. “Hey, that’s great!”

“Yeah, and they said I can start driving again after my next appointment.”

“And work?”

“I can start with half days.”

“Lots of big news today,” Sam says, smiling.

“Oh yeah, one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Cas and I are dating.” With that, Dean takes Cas by the hand and leads him to the bedroom.

Dean’s room is both familiar and unfamiliar and even with Dean’s hand in his, Cas feels out of place, but he doesn’t dwell on it because Dean kisses him again as soon as the door is closed behind them. “Stay right there,” he instructs Cas and then leaves again, returning a few minutes later with an ice pack wrapped in a towel. He sits on the bed and eases his right leg up onto it, shoving the ice pack inside the front of his sweatpants. He waggles his brows at Cas before sliding it to the side.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, just gets sore after PT. You don’t have to stand there.” He pats the bed next to him and Cas makes his way over, eyes lingering on the laptop sitting on the desk. Even with the lid closed, he can see a piece of tape has been placed on the camera. Dean must notice him looking because he says, “I can’t believe that’s really a thing.”

“Pretty much anything that connects to the internet can be used for surveillance.”

“Somehow that doesn’t make me feel better.”

“I suppose not.”

“Sit down, already.”

“I’m filthy from work.”

“Do I look like I care?”

Cas sits on the edge of the bed to remove his shoes before taking the spot next to Dean, who reaches out again to take his hand. They sit in silence for a long while and Cas begins to relax, resting back against the headboard.

“I guess I should’ve asked you before I told Sam we were dating.”

“I was not expecting that,” Cas admits, but he squeezes Dean’s hand. “But I’m more than ok with it.”

“I liked you from the start, you know. From that day at the laundromat. You were so flustered, but I assumed you were just bad at flirting.”

“I’m _terrible_ at flirting. But I had no idea you would be there and you got my honest reaction.”

Dean shakes his head. “I wonder what would’ve happened if we’d met in a normal way.”

Cas outright laughs at that. “Under any other circumstance, I would’ve been too intimidated to talk to you.”

“Really? Why?”

“Have you seen yourself? You walk around looking like a model, completely at ease in your life. And I...I’m anything but that.”

Dean snorts. “I’m a dumbass who let a tree fall on him. You, on the other hand, should be walking around wearing a cape.”

Cas pretends to consider that. “It would’ve been a good look at the laundromat.”

Dean nudges his shoulder against Cas’s. “Superheroes have laundry day, too.”

*

Once Dean declares that they’re dating, he doesn’t look back, and Cas is more than on board.

They spend a couple of weeks taking it slow, continuing to get to know each other on this new, level playing field. Going back to work, even half-days, tires Dean out but despite the fatigue that comes with working, Dean seems to get stronger day by day. They find some time to spend together in the early evenings, taking walks as part of his rehab or watching movies. Cas is surprised at how effortless dating feels, how easy it is to spend time together doing next to nothing, and how satisfying it is just to be by Dean’s side.

Sometimes the movies turn into make out sessions, sometimes Dean dozes with his head in Cas’s lap, either way, Dean can’t seem to get enough of touching him, and Cas soaks up the contact he didn’t realize he’d been missing. He can spend hours running his fingers through Dean’s hair as Dean sighs happily, relaxing into a nap. It’s so different from the time he sat in the woods, cradling Dean’s head as he willed him to hang on, to keep breathing until help arrived. But it’s familiar enough that sometimes a shudder goes through him as he remembers the crushing helplessness of being unable to get Dean to safety. When that happens, he rests his palm on Dean’s chest, reassuring himself with the strong, steady heartbeat until his own calms as well.

More than once he catches Sam standing in the doorway, his expression soft and his eyes shining as he watches them.

Even rarer than time together is time alone together. On the first evening they get with Sam gone, Dean takes Cas by the hand and leads him into his room. They lie facing each other and it feels so luxurious to stretch out on the bed. Even having their socked feet tangled together seems special and intimate. They kiss and kiss and the feel of stubble against stubble leaves Cas nearly shivering with delight. Dean hooks a finger in Cas’s belt loop to pull him even closer and Cas kisses a hot trail down his throat, stopping to drag his tongue over the pulse point there. After a few minutes, though, Dean shifts a little and Cas sees a flicker of pain cross his features. Pulling back, he asks, “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” Dean assures him. “I can’t lie on this side for too long is all.”

Cas starts to sit up. “I can switch to the—” He’s cut off when Dean puts a palm on his chest and pushes him flat, kissing him as he does.

“I can do it,” he says, between kisses. Placing a hand on either side of Cas’s shoulders, Dean shifts himself until he’s lying fully on top of Cas. Cas waits for him to continue his journey to the other side, but instead he leans down to kiss him some more. Cas can feel the beginnings of Dean’s erection as he grinds against him. Cas shifts the tiniest bit until they’re lined up properly and the sound of Dean gasping into his neck has him running his hands over Dean’s ass. They rock together slowly, both still fully dressed, but Cas glides his hands upwards, getting underneath Dean’s shirts to touch as much warm, bare skin as he can. A moment later, Dean slides off of him, now lying on his left side. Cas rolls to face him again, but Dean doesn’t move in to meet him. Instead he pulls down his rucked up t-shirt. Right away, Cas can tell that something has changed.

“I’ve got this scar from the surgery,” Dean finally says. “It’s huge and ugly. I’m full of metal. And not in a cool bionic way.”

Reaching for his hand, Cas says earnestly, “That doesn’t bother me.”

Dean looks like he doesn’t believe that and rolls flat onto his back. “It bothers me. I don’t know when I’ll be ready for...more.”

Cas brings Dean’s hand to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. “I’m in no rush. I’m content just to be close to you.” It’s the truth. The touching and cuddling and kissing have left him more satisfied than he could’ve imagined.

Dean’s quiet for a long moment. “Guess this wasn’t what you expected when you sat in your super secret spy lair watching me.”

Picturing his old workplace, Cas huffs out a small laugh. “Might I remind you that I sat in a cubicle in my drab office staring at a computer all day. It was rather mundane.”

Dean gets a bit of his spark back at that, answering with mock offense. “Excuse me, are you saying watching me was _boring_?”

“It was, uh….no, not always.” Cas remembers all too well the first time he saw the inside of this room, the unexpected surprise of seeing Dean in those panties. The memory is enough to make him apologize again. “I’m sorry for overstepping my boundaries.”

Dean shrugs that off. “Look, it was a little bit messed up but obviously there’s no resisting my charms.” At that, Cas blushes. “Oh shit,” Dean says, his voice barely above a whisper. “What all did you see?”

“I saw...a lot of things.”

Dean swallows hard. “Are we talking about the same thing here?”

Cas gets the old, familiar feeling of needing to extract himself from the conversation, but instead he presses forward. “They were pink.”

“Wow. Ok.”

Dean throws an arm over his eyes, but Cas pushes up on one elbow and gently tugs it away. “I liked it,” Cas says. “A lot.”

Dean chews his lip before meeting Cas’s gaze. “You did?”

“I did.”

“Huh.”

They both scramble to sit up at the unmistakable sound of Sam coming in the front door.


	13. Chapter 13

While they’re managing to find time to spend together a couple of times each week, they text throughout each day and the phone that Cas used to keep tucked in his pocket is now out and in sight at all times when he’s home. (Twice now he’s fallen asleep with it on his pillow and had to scramble to get it charged before he leaves for work in the morning.) It’s during one of these late evening texting sessions that Dean asks if they can hang out at Cas’s place the following evening.

 _Of course,_ he texts back immediately. He’s invited him over before, but Dean has preferred to stay at his own place, seemingly happiest surrounded by the chaos of his own life. With everything that’s happened, it makes sense that Dean would feel more comfortable at his own apartment so after he’d politely refused Cas’s invitation the first few times, Cas stopped asking. But he makes sure to bring snacks for the movies or offers to pick up dinner so as to do his share. After numerous visits, Cas has begun to master the fine art of not taking sides when Dean and Sam debate a point, even when Dean insists “You’re my boyfriend! You have to agree with me!” Pleading the fifth, he lets the word ‘boyfriend’ fill him with warmth like it does each time Dean refers to him that way.

Cas glances around his room. Coming home from work to shower off the day’s dirt and sweat means he’s been going through a lot of clothes and his laundry is piling up. The careful routine he had for keeping his apartment clean has been tossed aside since many of those blocks of previously empty time are now spent with Dean. He used to pride himself on having everything in perfect order before the end of each day, but his work day starts early and, by the time he’s home from Dean’s, he’s generally too tired to do much more than drop into bed for the night. With that in mind, he sets a time for Dean to come over that will leave Cas a chance to get the place presentable first.

Something about having Dean come to his place makes everything feel more official. He’s never had any sort of romantic interest over before and, other than Gabe, Cas can’t remember the last time anyone visited his apartment. He’d sent a few pictures of it to his mother when he first moved in, but he’s always traveled home for holidays, as opposed to family coming to see him.

One side effect of quitting the agency that he hadn’t anticipated is talking more with his mother. Before, he would call her every other Sunday as part of his weekend routine. Their conversations were predictable; he spoke in vague terms about his work and she updated him on his siblings. They all seemed to be following the prescribed plan: careers, relationships, weddings, and his oldest brother had even provided a grandchild. Cas continued to be the odd man out. He would stay on the phone just long enough to not be considered rude, then beg off, telling his mother he needed to pack his lunch. To her credit, she’d never tried to guilt him into anything more, and he’d never appreciated the steady presence she provided until everything in his life unraveled.

She’d begun to call him more frequently, checking up on him under the guise of asking questions she already knew the answers to, but he’d been so lonely closed up in his apartment that he’d actually answered the phone each time it rang. He’d called her as soon as he’d gotten hired at the nursery, called her from the parking lot before he’d even driven away from the interview with Cain. The enthusiasm in her response buoyed him, and it was then that he’d realized she’d been there for him all along, waiting for him to let her in. He found himself calling her out of the blue these days, calling to ask what the yellow flowers were that grew by the driveway of the house where he grew up or to ask for the recipe for the spice cake she used to make. When she expressed gentle surprise at the request, he didn’t tell her Dean was the one who’d be doing the actual baking. He very carefully hadn’t mentioned Dean at all so far, other than alluding cryptically to some “new friends”. (Which, when you factored in Sam and Charlie, made it a truthful statement.) He’d never told her he was gay. Maybe she knew without him saying, maybe she didn’t. Either way, as he looked around his apartment, trying to see it through Dean’s eyes, he thought maybe now he might be able to say the words out loud to her.

He’s thinking about how that conversation might go when the doorbell from downstairs chimes. Hitting the button to buzz Dean in, he considers that navigating the two flights of stairs up to his apartment probably contributed to Dean not wanting to come over. Cas is eager to see him, but he makes himself wait in the apartment, fussing with his couch cushions so that Dean doesn’t feel rushed. When he knocks on the door, Cas hurries to answer it and there’s Dean, smiling brightly at him. He’s so distracted by how good Dean looks in his well-worn jeans and a t-shirt that shows off the curve of his broad shoulders that at first Cas doesn’t notice anything else.

Cas holds the door for him and is graced with a kiss as Dean crosses the threshold. Closing the door again, Cas realizes what’s different. “Where’s your cane?”

Dean flexes both biceps. “I don’t need it anymore.”

“That’s wonderful!” He pulls Dean into a hug and Dean reciprocates with two unencumbered arms. In fact, Cas finds himself maneuvered until his back is against the door as Dean kisses him hungrily. When they pull apart, Cas is transfixed by the way Dean’s tongue darts out as his eyes linger on Cas’s lips. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Got beer?”

“I do.” There had been something strangely domestic about stopping by the store to pick up a six-pack of Dean’s favorite. Each time he opened the refrigerator today, he found himself smiling at it. He pulls out two bottles and opens them, and discovers Dean looking around the living room. Cas hands Dean a beer and waits while Dean wanders around peering at the books on his shelf, then pulling the blind away from the window to check the view.

“This is nice,” he finally says.

Unlike Dean and Sam’s place which is warm and inviting, from the blankets on the couch to the photos stuck on the fridge with magnets, Cas’s apartment is...nice. He’s always taken pride in the uncluttered, functional space, but even to his eyes it looks sterile, like something from a catalog.

“Thank you. I don’t have a lot of people over,” he confesses.

Dean nods towards the small hallway. “What’s down there?”

“Bathroom and bedroom. Not terribly exciting.”

“Can I see?”

“Sure.” They stop in the hall where Cas points out the bathroom. It wasn’t that long ago that he sat on that hard tile floor with his stomach reeling, lost in the turmoil of what he’d nearly let happen. Now, Dean is here, standing close enough that their arms brush as he looks into the bathroom. Cas can hardly believe that it’s real. That not only is Dean here, but that it’s ok. That the lies between them are gone. That the single, stressful almost-kiss has been replaced by hundreds of real ones. It’s still strange to have him here, but seeing Dean move from room to room as he takes everything in feels right.

Dean reaches for the last unopened door. “So this must be…”

“Bedroom,” Cas confirms. All his clothes have been picked up and his bed neatly made. He’d spent a lot of time debating whether putting on clean sheets was presumptive or just good housekeeping. But from the way Dean is strolling into the room, Cas thinks he made the right choice. Cas is still leaning against the doorframe when Dean sits on the edge of the bed and bounces lightly a few times.

“Not bad,” he says.

In the couple of weeks they’ve been together, Cas has been doing his best to follow Dean’s lead. Watching Dean take a long swallow of beer while making himself comfortable on Cas’s bed, Cas once again follows Dean’s lead and crosses the room to join him.

“Hi,” Cas says, almost shyly because they’re in his room, sitting on his bed. 

“Hi.” Dean holds out his bottle and Cas clinks his against it. They drink in silence, pressed together from shoulder to thigh. When the beer is gone, Cas takes the bottles and turns away from Dean to set them on the nightstand. As soon as he turns back around, Dean is leaning into his space to kiss him. There’s a freedom and a recklessness at being here, knowing nobody else can interrupt them. Cas doesn’t know whether it’s the promise of privacy or the latest stride Dean has made in his recovery that has him so revved up, but with the way he’s kissing along Cas’s jaw, he doesn’t really care. Dean hits the spot just behind his ear that makes him gasp, and before Cas even realizes it, he’s got both hands under Dean’s t-shirt, running them over warm skin from shoulder to waist.

“Ok,” Dean says once, then again. “Ok.” He leans back and Cas prepares for things to slow down. They can watch a movie or order food or whatever Dean wants. “I need to get my boots off.” He bends over to untie one, then the other.  It’s still a little awkward for him to fold himself over, but Cas thinks that if he didn’t know to look for it, he might not have noticed. Once they’re untied, he toes them off, but his socks prove to be a little more troubling. He’s able to cross his left leg up to pull it off, but the right doesn’t have the same flexibility. Before he can think about what he’s doing, Cas kneels on the floor in front of him.

“Can I?” Dean swallows hard and nods. Cas slides his hand up, tracing the line of Dean’s calf until he’s able to tug down the sock. Once both feet are bare, Cas rests his hands on Dean’s thighs, surging up to kiss him some more. Dean has one hand cupping his face, the other threading through Cas’s hair, and Cas leans into his every touch. He’d never dreamed it could be like this, that the ridiculous words of sappy pop songs could make his heart clench with their truths. He’s so far gone on this man that Cas thinks he could stay here forever, content with whatever Dean would give him.

When they next pull apart, Dean’s eyes rove over him appreciatively. “Not that I don’t like you down there, but how ‘bout you come join me.” As Cas gets to his feet, Dean shifts to stretch out on the bed. Cas reaches for the bedside lamp but stops when Dean says, “You can leave it on. I mean, if you want.”

Dropping his hand, Cas moves around the bed to lie down beside him. Dean takes in a deep breath then pulls his shirt off over his head. He’s trying to look confident, but he’s blushing and the flush spreads down his neck to his shoulders. His hands fidget by his sides as Cas looks at him. His scar stands out sharply against the pale skin of his belly, straight and decisive as it disappears below the waistband of his jeans. Cas takes Dean’s hand and kisses a circle around his wrist before kissing his palm. One by one he sucks each finger into his mouth until Dean’s breathing hitches and he starts to roll towards Cas.

He pushes Cas onto his back and slides a hand under Cas’s shirt. His fingers are still damp as he traces the outline of Cas’s nipple which hardens instantly under his touch. Pushing up the fabric until it bunches at Cas’s collarbone, Dean follows the path of his fingers with his mouth, kissing a hot, wet line up over his ribs to flick at the nipple with his tongue. When Cas gasps, he doubles down on the attention he gives it, alternating between sucking and laving at it with his tongue soft. He doesn’t let up until Cas lets out a whimper and then, after pulling off and laying a gentle kiss on the reddened skin, he moves to the other side.

It’s too much and Cas sits up, leaving Dean lying there so that he can pull his shirt off from where it’s threatening to strangle him. If the way Dean’s got his his hands behind his head as he smirks up at Cas is any indication, much of the self-consciousness from earlier is history.

“You’re gorgeous,” Cas says, and he sees a flicker of uncertainty in Dean’s eyes, but he recovers quickly.

“Get back down here.”

Cas starts to lower himself back down, half on top of Dean, then stops. “Is this ok?”

Dean nods. “Yeah, that side is good.”

Easing himself carefully down, Cas drags a thumb along Dean’s cheekbone. “Tell me if anything hurts or if anything changes or—“

“I will. Now stop talking.”

Cas smiles. “I can do that.”

Sighing, Dean shakes his head. “There you go again.”

Cas uses this opportunity to kiss his neck and that shuts them both up. He nips at the place where Dean’s neck meets his shoulder, before kissing the jut of his collarbone, following it until he reaches Dean’s sternum. Using extra care to keep from putting too much pressure on Dean’s right side, Cas plants a hand firmly on the mattress, holding himself up as he explores Dean’s chest to determine what he likes. He copies much of what Dean did to him, licking and sucking, cataloging the sounds Dean makes in response. When he scrapes his teeth over the sensitive nipple, Dean arcs upwards and Cas feels a corresponding flutter of pleasure in his own groin.  

Dean moves beneath him and Cas mirrors his movement until they’re both on their sides again facing each other. Even just shirtless, there’s so much skin to explore. Running his hands from Dean’s shoulders, Cas feels the muscles of Dean’s back flex. He works slowly, stopping at each knob of his spine until he reaches the dip of his lower back. He rests his hand on Dean’s waist, close to his scar, and stops kissing him to pull back and whisper, “May I?”

Dean nods his ok and Cas traces the scar with his finger, feeling the raised, thick line of it. He keeps his touch light, stopping when he reaches denim. He wonders if he could feel the metal beneath Dean’s skin, the screws and the plates that put him back together, that continue to hold him in place. Sometimes, when he least expects it, he’s taken back to that moment of finding him in the woods. It can be triggered by almost anything, like walking past a fragrant cedar in the nursery, or by nothing, like when he’s standing in the checkout line at the supermarket. When it happens, that burst of helpless fear washes over him again, strong enough to take his breath away, and he has to remind himself that Dean is ok.

“I am,” Dean says, holding him tightly, and that’s when Cas realizes he’s said that out loud. Cas lets himself be held for a long moment. “You good?” Dean asks.

Cas unburies his face from Dean’s neck. “I am.”

“Ok, so…” Dean takes his hand and guides it back to his waist, but this time to the button of his jeans. He watches Cas’s face as he unbuttons it to reveal a glimpse of the pink satin underneath.

Cas’s nearly gasps. He’s sure his eyes are comically large, but he can’t believe that Dean has trusted him enough to show up at his house like this. He pictures Dean putting them on in the privacy of his own room, anticipating this moment, and suddenly Cas can’t get enough. He reaches for the zipper to open things up until he can see properly. Dean’s semi-hard and the outline of his cock through the satin is mouthwateringly enticing. Cas wants to get him out of his jeans and Dean seems willing, lifting his hips up as best he can so that Cas can work them down then toss them off the end of the bed. He still can’t see where the scar ends, but there’s no time to think about that, not when Dean is laid out on his bed in nothing but the panties. Cas climbs between his splayed legs, kneeling there while he tries to decide where to touch first. He runs two fingers reverently along the edge of the lacy waistband, not quite dipping underneath. Dean’s skin is warm but the touch makes him break into goosebumps. Cas drags his work-roughened fingertips from the texture of the lace to the smoothness of the satin.

No longer able to resist, he lays his full palm down, rocking it slightly to curve around Dean’s erection, keeping his touch light enough that he can feel it twitch. Bending forward, he hooks a finger under the elastic and runs his tongue along the smooth skin there, slow and teasing. He wants Dean’s cock in his mouth, wants to kiss and lick and explore every inch but there’s something so appealing about seeing it through the panties, wrapped up like a present just for Cas. As he tries to decide how to proceed, he nuzzles his face against him, letting the satin drag against his stubble, breathing in Dean’s scent and feeling the heat of his arousal. Through the fabric, he mouths at it, letting the mixture of saliva and pre-come darken it. Only when Dean is rocking up against him does he ease down the panties. His eyes are drawn to where the scar continues and he dips his head to plant a gentle kiss there. He’d have to move from between Dean’s legs to get them all the way off, but he’s not ready to do that, so he works them down just under his hips, which prevents Dean from opening his legs even wider. Dean makes a small sound of frustration, but Cas responds by leaning forward to let the heat of his breath play over Dean’s semi-erect cock before darting a lick at the glistening head. At the first touch of his tongue, Dean moans, soft and breathy, and Cas is determined to coax more sounds of pleasure from those lips. He licks from root to tip, tongue flattened to cover more area, dragging it slowly upward to swirl around the tip. Dean has a hand in Cas’s hair again, fingers getting more insistent as he tries to convince Cas to give him more, but Cas takes his time, never too absorbed in his task to make note of what makes Dean squirm, what makes the muscles in his thighs twitch. He has to press a hand to his own erection to give himself some relief, and the resultant soft groan causes Dean to grab at his shoulder.

“Cas,” he says, voice thick with need, and Cas climbs carefully out from between his legs, helping him pull the panties down and off before moving to stretch out beside him. In an instant, Dean is reaching for him, hastily and clumsily opening his jeans. He gets his fly down just enough to shove a hand inside Cas’s underwear, taking hold of him with a firm grip. There’s no indecision, no hesitation as he strokes Cas with a confidence that says he knows how to make him feel good. And he’s right, those strong, curling fingers paired with the dark marks he is no doubt sucking into Cas’s neck have him nearly writhing. He’s never before wished for magic powers, but he would pretty much sell his soul at this moment If he could get the rest of his clothes off without interrupting what Dean is doing.

“Wait. Let me just—“ Dean gives a swipe of his thumb across the leaking head of Cas’s cock as he pulls his hand away, and who the hell has need for full sentences? As Cas scrambles to take off his jeans and underwear, Dean attaches his mouth to one nipple, rolling and pinching the other one. Cas stops all motion, his clothes still tangled around his calves, his brain short-circuiting.

Dean pulls off and laughs at him, but there’s nothing mean-spirited in it, merely a genuine delight at the effect he’s having. “Need a minute?”

In a flurry of limbs, Cas strips his clothes completely off, flinging them onto the floor. This man has done nothing but drive him to distraction in every possible way since the moment Cas first laid eyes on him. He lies back down and takes Dean’s face in his hands. “What I need is you.”

He can sense Dean trying to pull back, to duck his head and break away from the honesty in Cas’s statement. Cas feels it too, like the emotion has left them both more bare than their lack of clothes. Dean stops himself, though, and darts his tongue out to wet his lips. “Me too.”

They face each other, kissing deeply as their hands roam, pressing close so that their cocks brush against each other in a delicious slide. Cas works a thigh between Dean’s, watching his face to make sure the shift in his leg is all right. They stroke each other unhurriedly, but purposefully and, as Cas feels his pleasure mounting, his grip on Dean starts to falter. Dean jacks him faster then, kisses him harder, until Cas is groaning against his mouth. The heat builds inside him, coiling and intensifying, Dean’s every touch fever-hot as he brings Cas over the edge.

Dean strokes him as he rides out his orgasm, leaving Cas panting and pressing his forehead against Dean’s. The minute he can form coherent thought again, Cas reaches between them to coat his fingers in the come pooling on his stomach before taking Dean again in hand. His erection has flagged some in the meantime and Cas starts to apologize for neglecting him, but Dean stops him with a kiss. With nothing but Dean to focus on now, Cas watches him, watches as his eyes drift closed and his mouth falls open. It seems awkward for Dean on his side, so Cas urges him onto his back, still stroking in a way that has Dean thrusting up, chasing his release but not quite able to find it.

“I’m sorry,” he says, going still. “Sometimes it takes me awhile now. Sometimes I can’t at all.”

As soon as Dean speaks, Cas stops stroking him. He loosens the circle of his fingers but doesn’t let go, reluctant to stop touching him completely.

There was an empty stretch of time right after Dean sent Cas away, time when Dean was in the hospital and Cas had no idea how he was. He’d done a lot of googling during those days when he had no job and nothing to distract him from the ninety degree turn his well-ordered life had taken. He'd read about the injuries he assumed Dean had, about the surgery to repair his crushed pelvis. He'd read about rehab and recovery,  about the risks of early complications and the chances of long-term effects. He'd read everything he could find, hoping he could convince himself with science and facts that Dean would be alright despite the devastation Cas had wrought. They’ve never talked about it, but Cas knows this isn’t unexpected. The self-consciousness Dean blamed on his scar, their slow pace up until now, it all makes a little more sense. The last thing Cas wants to do is add to it.

Dean has his head turned away, staring toward the bedroom door, and Cas tries to reassure him. “I know.” At that, Dean whips back around, eyes wide, and Cas realizes how those two words have backfired. “Not like that. I mean, I know from reading about your injury that this can happen.”

Dean visibly relaxes. “Oh.”

“I can do whatever you want. I don’t care if it takes you longer, but I’m also ok if this is too much right now. I just want to make you feel good in whatever way works for you.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Dean says, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Do you want me to stop touching you?”

Eyes still covered, Dean shakes his head no.

Encouraged, Cas moves his hand again. He goes back to a lighter touch, hoping to start anew instead of focusing on the plateau Dean’s reached. He spends less time focused on his cock and his orgasm, and experiments more. He glides his hand down Dean’s shaft to cup his balls and then to trail a few fingers even lower, not looking to go further, but to give Dean a variety of sensations. He massages Dean’s thigh while he tweaks a nipple with the other hand. He gets his mouth back on him, tasting himself as he adds his saliva to the mix. He keeps things slow and unhurried and listens as Dean’s soft hums turn into moans. Again, he pulls Cas upwards, wanting to kiss him, even as he guides his hand back to his cock. This time, he keeps his own hand there too, directing Cas with the speed and pressure he needs. Grateful for the guidance, Cas kisses him, tongues swirling until Dean is panting so hard that he can’t kiss back. Cas moves to his ear, sucking on the lobe before licking the shell and darting his tongue inside.

At that, Dean calls out his name. “I’m here, Dean,” Cas whispers, his breath hot against Dean’s skin. Dean urges his hand faster and faster until his hips jerk and he comes with a sharp cry.

He pulls Cas’s hand away but lets Cas gather him in his arms. “I’m a sweaty mess,” he protests.

“Good,” Cas says.

Dean lies with his head against Cas’s chest for so long that Cas wonders if he’s dozed off.


	14. Chapter 14

_Can we get together?_

It’s an odd text to get from Gabe in the middle of the day. Cas takes a long drink of water as he ponders it. It’s been sent during work hours, certainly. Vague in terms of content. Seeking face to face interaction. _Something’s up_ , Cas thinks before he’s distracted by a blue jay swooping down to bury a peanut in one of the potted azaleas. “I can’t guarantee that’ll be here when you return,” he informs the bird, who cocks its head and looks at him with a bright, beady eye.

These are his concerns now, he reminds himself. Gabe is being a friend, reaching out to Cas in a way that Cas would most likely never think to do if their roles were reversed. He texts back an affirmative and receives another message before he even has a chance to get back to work.

_Today?_

They set a plan to meet at a coffee shop not far from Cas’s place. It gives Cas enough time to go home and shower first, and he’s sitting there waiting for his tea to cool when Gabe walks in. He’s taken off his suit coat and loosened his tie but otherwise looks like he’s come directly from work. Cas rolls his shoulder, feeling the tightness there that never seems to ease completely. He’s filled with a rush of affection at seeing Gabe, a fondness that reinforces how much he doesn’t miss his old job. Not the stifling hours in front of the computer in a climate-controlled office, not Naomi or the terrible coffee or seeing the worst of humanity on an almost-daily basis. And certainly not forcing himself to want a job he thought would somehow fulfill him simply because it was a higher rung on a ladder that climbed to nowhere.

Gabe looks happy to see him too, grinning as soon as he catches sight of him. Cas immediately gets to his feet and pulls him into a hug, squeezing him tightly.

“Whoa, ok, you’re a hugger now. Got it.”

“Can I buy you a coffee?”

“I can’t stay that long,” Gabe says, as they both take a seat. “But I have some information that might interest you.”

“Me?”

“Well, lover boy, I guess.”

Cas can’t even find it in him to blush at that. “Dean?”

“I didn’t want to put this in writing because technically you don’t know this and you sure as shit didn’t hear it from me.”

“Gabriel, what’s going on?”

“Ok, so.” He leans forward. “Your cases got passed on to Inias. Dean’s was cleared right away, and Charlie as well. We determined Ash was hoping to spring the test animals from the lab at the university but it turns out there weren’t any there, so we’re keeping a small eye on him but nothing major—“

“Gabe.”

“I digress. Ok, so even though Dean was already cleared, today an alert popped up. Inias didn’t know what to do with it, so he called me over. Turns out John Winchester’s been arrested for a DUI.”

Cas feels his heart skip a beat. “Is the car ok?”

“That’s just it. The car is fine, but it’s been impounded.” He slides a post-it note with an address on it across the table, and it feels like the most clandestine activity Cas has ever engaged in. “Dean has proof of insurance, right?”

“I believe so. It shouldn’t have lapsed since the last time I checked.”

“Ok, well, if he has that and a spare key, he can go get it. Odds are John will be out in the next forty-eight hours, but I’m pretty sure he’s driving around uninsured and, even if he’s not, it’ll probably take him longer to round up the impound fee.”

Cas stares at the piece of paper. “Gabe, I can’t thank you enough. You have no idea what this will mean to him.”

“You’re right. I don’t. It’s a car and I don’t get it. But I know what he means to you and that’s good enough to me.” He gets to his feet. “I’m outta here, but let’s get together for real soon. Jesus Christ, you’re not gonna hug me again— _oof_.”

“Thank you,” Cas says again before releasing him.

  
*

Later that evening, Cas calls Dean. “I know it’s last minute, but Cain got ahold of some heirloom seeds from a dealer and he asked me to go pick them up tomorrow. It’s a bit of a drive, but I could leave when you’re done with work if you’d like to come along.”

“Yeah, I could do that.” He pauses before asking, “They can’t just...mail seeds?”

Of course they can. “Sometimes,” Cas hedges. “But Cain doesn’t want to risk anything going wrong in transit.”

“I mean, I’m not going to argue about hanging out with you, but you do get that’s a little weird, right?” Cas is nearly vibrating with keeping this secret from Dean, a condition that is exacerbated when his phone literally buzzes. “Are you getting another call?”

“One second.” Cas pulls the phone from his ear to check the screen. He smiles at the text from Sam, who he knows is sitting in the same room as his brother. “Yes, it’s my mother. I need to talk to her but I’ll pick you up right around 12:30.”

“You wanna just swing by work and get me? That’ll save some time.”

“No! I mean, no need for that. I’ll get you from home. Seeyoutomorrowbye.” He disconnects the call before he can do any more damage.

 _He just asked me what I know about heirloom seeds_ , comes the next text from Sam. _I assured him that they’re serious business._

**You’ll have everything ready?**

_It’s all put together. I’ll remind him again in the morning._

**Thank you**

_Are you kidding? Thank YOU. I just wish I’d be able to see his face._

_*_

Dean’s waiting outside for him when he pulls into the parking lot the next afternoon. He greets him with a kiss, then hands over a large book. “Here, ya nerd. Sam said you wanted to borrow this.”

Cas takes the volume from his hands, taking a moment to flip through it. “Thank you. It looks fascinating.” He reaches behind him to set it on the backseat. “Ready?”

“Yup. Did you want to stop and grab some lunch?”

Congratulating himself for anticipating this exact scenario, Cas pulls a bag from the back. “I brought you a sandwich.”

Dean looks delighted by this turn of events. “What about you?”

“I ate before I left work.” Truth is, Cas could barely choke down his breakfast this morning. Time is of the essence and there are so many unknowns in this situation, so many things he can’t control, but he wants this for Dean maybe more than he’s ever wanted anything for himself. It still amazes him sometimes how much joy it brings him to make Dean happy.

They aren’t too far out of town when Dean gets a wistful look on his face. Cas rests a hand on his knee. “You all right?”

“I miss driving.”

Cas squints like he doesn’t understand. “You drive.”

He shakes his head. “There’s driving and there’s _driving_. God, i would’ve loved to take you out in her.”

Cas bites his tongue to keep from cracking a smile. “I have faith that someday you will.”

“Well, my dad knows better than to show his face anywhere around me, so who knows.” He crosses his arms in front of his chest and leans back against the seat. Between the sandwich and the autumn sunshine streaming through the window, it doesn’t take long until he dozes off. Cas drives, taking frequent opportunity to glance over at him as he sleeps. Dean’s almost gotten used to waking up to Cas watching him. He sometimes complains that it’s ‘creepy’ but any grumbling is immediately followed by a kiss, so Cas is going to call that a mixed message.

They’ve been together for nearly three months now and sometimes Cas still can’t believe it. With the holidays on the horizon, they’ve been hammering out plans. Dean won’t leave Sam alone on Christmas, but he’s invited Cas to spend the day with them. Cas’s mother wasn’t thrilled about that, but the promise of the two of them driving up to stay for New Year’s went a long way in making up for it. So far she’s only interacted with Dean via Skype, but she hadn't batted an eye when Cas came out to her and, if the way she and Dean have bonded thus far is any indication, Cas’s main concern is going to be having any say in his own life once the two of them start plotting. Cas knows there will be embarrassing stories from his childhood and more food than any human being could be expected to eat. They haven’t discussed whether his mother will be comfortable with the two of them sharing a room and, even though he is nearly thirty years old, the thought of starting that particular conversation seems terrifying. Despite all that, he can’t wait to bring Dean home.

His once orderly, predictable life has been replaced with the chaos of friendship and love. Even the necessities of life, like laundry or grocery shopping, are something he looks forward to because he can do them with Dean at his side. He’d kept himself closed off for so long, used his career like a shield to keep from needing anyone. He’s sure that from where Naomi sits, his life looks like a failure, an ongoing downward spiral that must leave him too ashamed to show his face. It took Cas quite some time to see past his own expectations and realize that falling in love wasn’t a weakness, but that letting himself be vulnerable was one of the bravest things he was capable of doing.

Dean shifts in the seat beside him, letting out a soft snore.

Dean wouldn’t care if he worked at the nursery forever. He wouldn’t care if Cas went back to the agency. All that matters to him is that Cas is happy. They’ve had a lot of discussions about his future—about _their_ future—and, with Charlie’s help throughout the application process, Cas is planning to go back to school. He’s not exactly sure what he wants to study, but he’d like to take the parts of his old job that he enjoyed, like making sense of people’s motivations and decisions, and build from there. There’s something exhilarating about having possibilities stretched out like an open road before him.

The sound of the GPS alerting him to take the next exit wakes Dean, and Cas smiles at him as he changes lanes. “Good nap?”

Rubbing one eye with the heel of his hand, Dean yawns loudly before answering. “I think that sandwich put me in a coma.”

“We’re almost there,” Cas assures him. He lets the GPS guide him, taking him down an access road from the highway that leads to an industrial area.

Dean’s brow furrows with concern. “What kind of seed operation is this? I thought we’d be driving out to some guy’s farm or something.”

Cas doesn’t answer, concentrating instead on finding the destination. He pulls to a stop outside a chain link fence topped with razor wire. “This is it.”

Turning in his seat to face Cas, Dean looks at him in disbelief. “Is Cain running a drug cartel? No way are you going in there to get seeds.”

Spying what he’s looking for, Cas relaxes back against the seat and puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “You’re right. We’re here for something else.” He points, gently turning Dean to look.

“What are you _holy shit.”_

“Your dad got arrested for driving under the influence. As someone with proof of valid insurance on the car, you’re eligible to retrieve it from impound.”

Dean’s excitement fades as he realizes the obstacles still in his way. “Ok, but I don’t have any of that on me.”

At that, Cas reaches into the backseat to grab the book and pull out an envelope tucked inside. He hands it to Dean. “Here’s your insurance paperwork and the spare key.” Cas is prepared to pay the impound fee but if Dean feels strongly about not letting him do that, they’ll work it out.

Dean makes no move to open it. “You and Sam…”

Cas shrugs. “With a little help from Gabe.”

A moment later Dean is flinging his arms around Cas. “I can’t believe this. I can’t believe you did this.”

Cas kisses him once, then pulls back. “Dean, I have something important to tell you.”

“There’s more? What is it?”

“The lot closes at five.”

Grinning, Dean unbuckles his seatbelt and reaches for the door handle. “Let’s do this thing.”

**Author's Note:**

> My sfw fics can be found [here](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder).
> 
> I am [scones-and-texting-and-murder](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/scones-and-texting-and-murder) on tumblr.


End file.
